


#HannibalEverAfter - 2017!

by harleygirl2648



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Blood, Blood and Gore, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Hannibal Loves Will, Happy Ending, Happy Murder Family, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mermaids, Sassy Will Graham, Will Graham is a Tease, Will Loves Hannibal, religious kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 49,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9542051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleygirl2648/pseuds/harleygirl2648
Summary: Retellings of fairy tales and fairy-tale inspired pieces, all with a Hannibal theme! Will update once a day for every day of February.





	1. Little Red Riding Hood

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to see all the work that will come out of this month! Fairy tales are my weakness!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail must go into the forest for her father to see the huntsman, but something gets in her way...

Her father had given her a message, tucked it into her little basket with a kiss on the cheek. She only looked down at her pet rabbit, scratching behind its little ears.

_“Now be home before sundown, or you may find it difficult to leave the woods when darkness falls.”_

The woods were dark, but Abigail was not afraid. She pulled her blood-red cloak closer around his shoulders, pulled the hood over her head, letting a shiver travel down her spine. The wind was harsher around the entrance into the forest, but died down as she walked down the path, almost as though it were afraid to enter the woods itself.

Quiet, hushed, the only sounds were her shoes crunching the dead leaves under her feet. Not even the birds were chirping. _How curious_ , she thought. It was spring, but there were so many dead leaves. She bent down and picked one leaf up, placing it in her basket to show her father later.

She was just turning back to the path when she heard a twig snap. Quickly, she whipped her head around, clutching at the bone-handled knife she kept in her sleeve.

“Who are you?” she called out. “I’m not afraid.”

An enormous wolf slid into the clearing, as though he was poured out of the shadows. He stood back on its two back feet and grinned down at her.

“Hello, little girl,” he said, his voice warm like the afternoon sun. “What are you doing out in the woods all by yourself?”

“I am traveling for my father,” Abigail replied. “He has a message for the huntsman that lives deep in the woods, and I am delivering it.”

“What’s in the basket?” the wolf asked, leaning down and taking a deep sniff. “It smells delicious.”

Abigail tightened her grip on the basket, her knife still hidden in the cloak. “Meat, cheese, and beer. Some for me, and some for the huntsman for good wishes.”

The wolf leaned closer to her, taking another sniff. “My dear, may I have a piece of meat, please? It grows colder and I grow older, and I am unable to hunt with ease as I did in my younger days.”

Abigail pondered her response. If she refused, she was certain the wolf would eat her. If she fed him, he might take all of her food and leave her to starve, then come back and eat her once she was weak. She thought through her actions carefully, then opened the basket, taking out the meat and carefully unwrapping it. She removed her knife from her sleeve, and cut a thin slice, handing it to the wolf. He snapped his jaws at the meat and devoured the slice immediately. He looked expectantly at her, as though he wanted more. So Abigail cut another slice. Then another, and another, and another, until an entire half of the meat had been fed to the wolf.

The wolf licked his lips after he had eaten, wiping the blood from his jaws onto the dead, dry earth.

“Thank you, my dear. You are very generous, and good.”

Abigail did a little curtsey before stating, “Thank you, sir. But I really must be on my way, my father expects me back before the sun sets, and it is already getting late.”

“My dear girl, you will never get to the huntsman’s home before dark if you try to find it on your own. I can show you the way.”

“I am not to leave the path, it is dangerous to walk alone in the woods. Besides, wouldn’t the huntsman kill you as soon as he saw you?”

The wolf smiled again, with bloodstained teeth. “Oh, he would never harm me. Come, my dear, let me help you, as you helped me. I will help you find your place.”

Abigail held out her knife. “Do you see this? I have killed foxes that come to hurt my rabbit, and I know it is likely that I cannot hurt you, but I give you my word that I will not hurt you as long as you do not harm me.”

The wolf’s smiled grew wider, and he bowed deeply before her. “My dear, to walk alongside you in the woods would be an honor.”

He offered a paw to her, a sign of peace. She took it, ignoring the dried blood under his claws. And then he lead her away from the path, into the deep part of the woods. They walked around in seemingly circles, Abigail becoming more and more lost with each turn.

“Do you know where you are going?” she asked, looking up at the wolf as she still clutched his hand. He smirked at her, patting the top of her head.

“Of course I do. Look over there, that is the home of the huntsman.”

Abigail looked, and sure enough, there was a tiny little cottage, at the very heart of the woods. A man was outside, sharpening a blade outside. As they approached him, he suddenly stood up, holding the blade out as if to strike, but relaxed as the wolf grew closer, to Abigail’s astonishment.

“A child, Hannibal?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I shouldn’t be surprised but I am.”

Abigail clutched the paw of the world tighter on instinct. “What- who- is- is that your _name_? Hannibal?”

The wolf smiled down at her. “Yes, my dear. Forgive me, I never asked for yours.”

“Abigail.”

“Abigail, a lovely name,” he said, then turned back to the huntsman. “Will, you’ve known me all this time, you should have more faith in me.”

The huntsman (Will, Abigail supposed) smiled, slightly, as though he didn’t do it very often. “I do have faith in you, but usually I place it in the wrong areas.”

He then gave his attention to Abigail, looking her over, examining her. “Why have you come here all by yourself?”

“My father has a message for you,” she declared, letting go of the wolf’s paw and opening her basket to take out the letter. She handed it to Will, who unfolded the paper.

“Your letter is blank,” he said, turning it out to show the girl. He knew what it meant. Her father had meant for her to go into the woods and never come back out again.

Abigail was looking at the ground, knife clenched in hand, but she was afraid. She looked afraid.

He let the letter fall from his hands, only to clench a fist. Only a monster would throw away such a precious treasure. Ungrateful.

“Abigail,” Will said softly. “Do you wish to go home?”

“My house has never truly felt like a home,” she stated, staring off into nothing. “But I do miss my rabbit.”

“You can stay here, then,” Will said, leading her inside. “We will bring your rabbit home for you.”

He set out a spare mattress with plenty of extra blankets and furs. He then went to the kitchen and prepared her some food, nothing fancy, just some meat seasoned with the wild herbs that grew around outside.

Abigail smiled at him during the meal, smiled even as she lay down wrapped in blankets, relaxing. “Thank you very much for letting me stay.”

Will smiled down at her, finding himself brushing the hair out of her eyes and humming an old melody so that she would fall asleep. He remained by her side until he heard a scratch at the door.

Smirking to himself, he got up and made his way to the door, opening it. Hannibal was wiping his jaws on the grass outside, the blood and gore staining his fur, regardless. Leaning back and stretching, reshifting, reshaping by the full moonlight. He stood up fully, now, on his own two feet, a human again. Will smiled to himself, taking a bearskin blanket and walking outside with it, wrapping it around Hannibal’s shoulders.

“Almost forgot it was a full moon,” he remarked. Hannibal smiled, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “How long, again?”

“Two weeks, Will,” he smiled, kissing Will, blood staining his mouth. “Then I turn back.”

“You’ll be staying around, though, right? We have Abigail now.”

“Most assuredly, I am staying. She is a remarkable girl, an Artemis in the making. I’ve just been to her father’s to make certain that he doesn’t come looking to see whether his little plan came to fruition.”

Will shook his head, but still laughed. “Did you at least bring some of him back?”

“Unfortunately, no. I would have, but I was carrying this,” Hannibal stated, gesturing down to the little rabbit that he had carried back and set in the doorframe. It hopped over to where Abigail was sleeping in peace, snuggling up beside her. Will smiled at the scene, then turned back to Hannibal.

“I saved you some dinner if you’re still hungry.”

Hannibal licked his lips again, kissing Will deeper this time. “Yes, I think I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is a Marlana take on Snow White!


	2. Snow White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Snow White
> 
> Margot Verger is the fairest in the land, and her evil brother Mason is not happy about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wrote something two days in a row. Let's see if we can keep it going!

"Of course I’m the fairest in the land, have you ever looked at me?” Margot stated, rolling her eyes at Will. He only rolled his eyes back, leaning against her doorframe.

“Your Highness-”

“Oh, someone still calls me that, incredible. Someone in this blasted kingdom gives me the respect I deserve, stuck in this damn wing.”

“You’re the only royal we care about, Margot. We all hate Mason, it’s one of the main reasons I’m not kidnapping you out of your bed.”

“Yeah, you just woke my ass up in the middle of the night.”

Will sighed again. Why was this always his job? Why did he have to deal with the royal siblings? Mason was a royal pain-in-the-ass, to be brutally honest, and he wasn’t even the real heir, Margot was. It wasn’t like anyone had ever stood up to him before, no one had ever dared. He had cast his sister aside, kept her captive in one wing of the palace.

Though Will doubted that he knew about the princess Alana who often scaled the fence to, ahem, visit his sister on occasion.

But Mason was a vain, cruel man, and all of his self esteem was tied up in the damn magic mirror that had been found in one of his conquests. He had asked who was the fairest in the land, and today, the mirror had told him it was Margot, and she would usurp him one day.

So that was when Will had been brought into the picture. Mason had demanded that Will kidnap his sister from her bedroom, drag her into the forest, kill her, and bring him back her heart. Will, however, was against this idea, having been close friends with the princess since they were children.

Though he was regretting the friendship now, she was quite stubborn. “Margot, I’m trying to save your life.”

“By throwing me into the forest, to stay there by myself? Will, he’s never let me out of the fucking castle walls before, how the fuck am I going to survive?”

“Wow, those etiquette classes really did a lot for you,” he muttered. Margot only grinned.

“Nah, I’m really quite good at button-stitching.”

“Oh my god,” Will said, exasperated. “Look, I’m going to take you into the forest, but stay somewhat close to the palace, just long enough for me to tell Mason you’re dead and I’ll come find you and get you away from this place.”

Margot’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat, grumpily taking Will’s hand before sarcastically calling out, “Help, help, I’m being captured by a brute.”

“Don’t make me regret not killing you.”

***

Margot sat on a rotting log and pouted. She didn’t see why she couldn’t just hide in the palace, she and Alana were so close to putting their plan of treason to action. God, she was really going to kill Mason now.

She was satisfied with her bitter thoughts when the most delicious smell hit her nostrils. Curious, she stood up and sniffed the air, then walked in the direction of the smell.

It led her to a small house, not far from the castle, where the most delicious pie was cooling in the window. She approached hesitantly, wishing she could eat it, when suddenly a man appeared in the window, causing her to move back.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He waved his hand away, “Not a problem, Your Highness. Would you care for a piece?”

“I-I really shouldn’t.” No, no, she shouldn’t, but she was starving and hadn’t eaten anything since dinner yesterday, and it smelled so good-”

“Here,” the man smiled, cutting a slice and plating it before offering it to her. “It’s a meat pie.”

Margot bit her lip, before taking the plate, and breaking off a piece of the pie with a fork.

***

“Well?” Mason smirked down at Will, who bowed before him. Every time, Will had to roll his eyes before standing up straight again.

“Dead, my lord,” he declared, keeping his face set in stone. “Disposed of her in the river.”

Mason let out a perfectly evil laugh, “Really, Will? Do you take me for an idiot?”

“In all honesty, my lord, yes, I do,” Will said dryly, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “But why do you ask?”

“I knew you’d never have guts to kill my baby sister,” Mason sneered, leaning forward like he knew he had won. “Sooooo, all I had to do was get you to remove her from the castle. You should have warned her not to eat anything.”

Rage suddenly flickered in Will’s eyes, and he withdrew his sword and lunged forward, only for Lord Cordell to come from the side and restrain him.

“Put him in the dungeon for execution,” Mason grinned, but suddenly slouched forward as Will heard a loud smash, shards of broken glass raining from his hair. Alana, the savior of the land, came out from behind the throne, holding the remains of the magic mirror.

“This thing was pissing me off,” she started, throwing it on the ground, before looking over at Will. “You okay?”

Will flicked out a dagger from his sleeve and stabbed it right into the side of Cordell’s face, causing the man to fall to ground, choking on his own blood. He wiped off the dagger on the side of his sleeve and stared at Alana in front of him.

“What are you doing here, your majesty?” he asked. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“To see Margot, of course.”

“She’s in danger,” he declared. “Come with me.” And they raced off into the forest. They looked near and far until they came to an empty cottage, only to see Margot sprawled out on the ground, a smashed plate and piece of pie smeared in the grass beside her.

“No,” Will breathed out, about to move forward when Alana pushed him, rushing over to her love’s side and kneeling down beside her. She brushed the hair out of her eyes, pulling her close into a hug, tears dripping from her eyes.

“Margot,” Alana said softly, voice cracking. “I - I’m so sorry, I wanted to help you. I love you.”

And she leaned forward to press a goodbye kiss to her love’s lips. She was about to stand up when Margot stirred, blinking awake. A smile broke across her face, and she leaned up to kiss Alana again. Will smiled at the scene before him.

However, after several minutes of both princesses content to kiss on the forest floor, he had to speak up.

“You know Mason’s going to wake up soon,” he reminded. “And I kind of killed Cordell, so he’s going to be really pissed.”

Both girls giggled into their kiss as they helped each other up, brushing the dirt and grass off of each other’s dresses.

“I’ll grant you a pardon, hell, I’ll knight you,” Margot grinned, clutching Alana’s hand. “Now let’s go finish this business, once and for all.”

***

Mason groaned as he tried to sit up, his hands stung as they pushed off against the floor. He looked down to see shards of glass from his mirror embedded in his palms. He didn’t remember what had happened, only a blow to the head and then bam, only pain.

“Cordell,” he croaked, trying in vain to get his head straight. His vision wobbled, but he could make out the still form of his most loyal knight lying motionless before the throne, blood surrounding his temple.

Instantly afraid, Mason tried to stand, but was suddenly pulled back into a firm headlock. He was too weak to escape, and looked up to see his very-much-still-alive sister, Will leaning against one of the pillars in the throne room casually.

“Thank you, Alana,” Margot smiled, talking over Mason’s shoulder. That must be who was holding him down. She smirked back down at Mason, showing the hunting knife Will had given her.

“You wanted to kill me.”

“Yes,” he hissed, as Alana squeezed harder. Margot’s smirk grew wider.

“Answer me a question, brother dear,” she said, leaning down so she could look him in the eyes. “Who’s the fairest in the land?”

“You- you are,” he spat. “Let me go!”

Margot shook her head as she feigned sadness. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mason. You wanted to eat my heart,” she said as she touched his chin with the knife. But it looks like I’ll have to eat yours.”

Before he could respond, she stabbed him in the heart as Alana let him go. He collapsed onto the ground. Both princesses smiled before sharing another kiss.

“Fairest princess,” Alana teased. “May I have the honor of ruling by your side?”

“Of course, brave princess,” Margot teased right back. “Now let’s get our knight in shining armor to take out the trash for us. Will!”

“On it,” he stated, kicking Mason’s corpse hard one time for personal satisfaction before dragging him out by his feet. “Is this what I’ve been reduced to?”

“Yep,” Margot said cheerfully. “Now go dump it in the pigpen and clean off the crown before I put it on, I don’t want to stain my hair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: a modern twist on the old Cinderella tale, Hannigram-style.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos galore!


	3. Cinderella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very Hannibal twist on the old Cinderella tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: still going strong!

Once upon a time, there was a poor criminal profiler named Will Graham. He lived alone, well, not quite alone, he had several loyal dogs that loved him unconditionally. Sadly, they were they only creatures that did so. For you see, Will was trapped by his mind and his job. His brutal boss, Jack Crawford, forced him to work day and night catching serial killers with no breaks. Will hated this, especially when Jack’s favorite members of the team, Brian, Jimmy, and Beverly, got all the perks, with none of the intense stress of forcibly entering the mind of a criminal. They would all tease him, call him strange, sad, a freak.

All Will wanted was one night off to play with his dogs and the ability to relax and feel understood _himself_ for once. But no, Jack didn’t want Will to rest until they had found the Chesapeake Ripper.

But one fateful night, his wish was finally granted. He was allowed one night off, even if Jack forced him to be on call, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Jack had some sort of event to attend with the rest of the team, Will wasn’t allowed to go. It was still a free night, though, and Will was overjoyed to be free, just this once.

He had planned to spend all night at home, playing with the dogs, perhaps some late-night fishing. Finally, time all to himself. But the best laid plans often go awry, and this saying came true when Winston, the newest member of his pack, bolted away from the house.

Worried that he would meet a predator that could hurt him, Will chased his dog. He chased him for what felt like miles before they came to a beautiful house, where a party was going on. Excited, Winston made a break for the outdoor guests, begging for scraps.

Will hadn’t thought, he only ran towards his dog, grabbing him and hooking his leash to the collar. It was only after he had caught his dog that he took in his surroundings. It was a very fancy party being held, and Will felt woefully underdressed in a flannel shirt and worn jeans, stubble on his face. He could tell that the guests were all whispering about him and he felt himself blush hard before turning to leave.

Of course, as luck would have it, he turned right into an incredibly handsome man, knocking his wine glass so a little ran over the edge. Instantly, Will started to look anywhere other than the man, started to furiously apologize, turning to leave again when the man stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, there’s no spill.” His voice was comforting and warm. “Here, let’s go over to the side of the house, it’s quieter.”

Will only swallowed and nodded, following the man to the side, of the house, away the crowd. He felt that he could breathe at last, with only one pair of eyes on him. And they were beautiful dark eyes, with flecks of maroon.

“I’m- I’m so sorry,” Will stammered before the man could speak again. “You see, Winston- he’s new, I just found him, he gets very skittish, and he-”

The man raised his hand up, and Will couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

“Oh, please don’t be afraid,” the man said quickly, lowering his hand. “I understand completely. It takes time to forge trust, one must extend a bit of themselves in order to get a bit back.”

Will let out a shaky laugh as he nodded. The man smiled then. “Yeah, yeah, you’re- you’re absolutely right. You know,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You, uh, you feel, familiar, somehow. Like I’ve known you before.”

“How so?”

Will actually almost told this complete _stranger_ that he had felt this same state of calmness at a scene of the goddamn _Chesapeake Ripper_. So he closed his mouth and shrugged. “I - I don’t know, honestly. My mind likes to play tricks on me sometimes.”

The man nodded, and Will could feel himself smile, he was relaxed for once.

“Would you care to stay for the party? There’s plenty of food.”

“Oh!” Will said, surprised. He’d never been anywhere this fancy, “This is, uh, a beautiful home, beautiful party. I’m not really dressed for it, though.”

“I think you look wondrous,” the man replied. Will blushed and looked away. “Please stay. I hunt the meat myself for these occasions.”

“You hunt?” Will said, excited. “I - I like to fish.”

The man’s smile felt genuine, as though he was truly hanging onto every word Will had said. They talked for a long time about hunting, fishing, Will talked about his dogs, the man talked about his love of cooking. One time, Will was laughing and the man brushed a lock of hair out of his face and _fuck_ if Will didn’t almost melt right then and there, _yes, touch me again, please…_

“Well, it would seem we have much in common,” the man said during a lull in conversation, as they just stared at each other. “Please stay, as my personal guest.”

Will bit his lip, looking up at the man shyly. “I - I think I’d like that.”

“Wonderful. What is your name?”

Will opened his mouth to answer when his phone rang. His eyes widened in terror and disappointment, motioning to the man that he had to answer the call. He put the phone to his ear. “H-hello, Jack.”

“Will, body found at the mouth of the river. A car’s picking you up in half an hour. Be ready.”

“B-but-”

“No buts, now, Will.” And Jack hung up, making Will flinch again. He set the phone back in his pocket, biting his lip again.

“I- I’m so sorry, I have to go,” he said, his words running together as he moved back from the man. He saw a flash of worry and panic cross his expression, but Will was focused on making it back to his house when the man grabbed his arm. “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“But I don’t even know your name, how will I ever find you again?” the man pleaded. Will only shook his head, pushing his hand off of his arm.

“I don’t know, goodbye!” he exclaimed, running off from where he had come, the dog following at his heels.

The host was staring off into the distance, trying to savor every memory he had of that beautiful stranger, when Jack came outside, rolling his eyes at his phone. He acted the part of a kiss-up.

“I am so sorry, Dr. Lecter, I have to be going. Body, you know.”

Hannibal waved him off with barely a gesture, taking a sip of wine.

“Something wrong?”

“What? Oh, nothing,” he murmured. “I need…I need to sort out my emot- _thoughts_ , goodbye.”

***

After the party, Hannibal sat down in his chair by the fireplace, sighing into a glass of whiskey. It wasn’t his usual drink of choice, but he had caught a note of whiskey off the beautiful stranger that night. He regretted not catching his name. The stranger was so intriguing, with inquisitive eyes and a charming way of speaking. It was as though they understood each other. And now he was gone, and Hannibal was left with only scent memory.

River water, dog, sweat, the hot sweetness of a dark mind, and… _aftershave_. A dreadful brand, one with a ship on the bottle.

He had to find him again, he wouldn’t be the same without that mind in his life.

***

Will had slept well on occasion these past three weeks, as his dreams had the option now of being filled with leaning against the side of that house while conversing with the handsome host. Pleasant dreams, he wasn’t used to those. He wished deeply that he’d told the man his name, but words had failed when panic set in. Perhaps their paths would cross again.

“Hello!” Brian called, snapping his fingers in Will’s face, causing him to blink and then rub his eyes. “Murder scene, do your thing. What’s up with you, you’re acting weirder than usual, you know.”

Will just shrugged, trying brush the thoughts of those maroon-tinged eyes away.

“Step to it, it’s the Ripper,” Jack barked out. Will meekly nodded, heading down the hill towards the crime scene, hiding himself from everyone’s view. As if fate had planned it, as soon as Will disappear from sight, a Bentley rolled up to the side of the scene, and Jack smiled as the driver got out.

“Dr. Lecter, glad you could make it,” Jack nodded. Hannibal nodded back, already bored with the whole affair. He’d spent three weeks for searching for the stranger at the party, with no luck. The scent was lost. “We hope you can provide us with some insight into the Ripper.”

“I’ll do my best,” he replied, dryly. _As if they had any real idea of what was happening._

Jack started talking about his investigation, and Hannibal put on a careful mask of fascination, pretending to listen. But instead, he was internally making note of the scents around him.

There was the scent of the pine trees around them, and the afternoon overcast was a sure sign of rain. Scents of aftershave, deodorant, and disinfectant from Jack’s team. But something seemed… _off_.

“Pardon me, Jack,” Hannibal interrupted. “Don’t you have a profiler on your team, I remember hearing something about one.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Will? Will doesn’t interact well with others, he’s out by himself. You don’t need to bother with him.”

Hannibal was about to tell Jack that he would find that out for himself, when the breeze changed directions and swept past his nose.

_That smell…_

“Excuse me,” Hannibal said, distracted, waving Jack away. “I- need to be alone with my thoughts.”

Jack moved away, confused, but said nothing as Hannibal walked towards the crime scene, ducking under the tape, and down the hill.

And there _he_ was.

Eyes closed, neck back, lost in thought. Hannibal moved closer, not wanting to disturb him.

_He gets very skittish._

_It takes time to forge trust, one must extend a bit of themselves in order to get a bit back._

He was speaking now, in low, dulcet tones to himself. Hannibal held his breath as he stepped ever closer.

_I’m lost now. There’s a piece of me I can’t get back. My heart, that I didn’t know was there, it’s gone now. At first I thought that this - this **pig** had it, I was wrong. My anger caused me to snuff him out like a candle, clean neck break. The slashes to the face were post-mortem, I didn’t want to look at him anymore. My emotions have never gotten the better of me, it’s because my heart is gone. This will serve as a replacement._

Hannibal smiled to himself, looking at the cleaned-out cavity in the corpse’s chest, where the heart would have been.

_The heart isn’t the same, it’s not mine, and it’s not - it’s not the one that belongs to the one **I** love, either. That’s what I want, not my heart. It already belongs to them. I- I can’t find them, I’m searching. Searching-_

Will’s eyes blinked open, feeling the presence of someone behind him. He turned, and saw him.

His mouth opened in surprise, and Hannibal couldn’t resist. He moved in quickly and captured Will’s lips in a kiss.

Yes, it was him. They had found each other at last, after three weeks had felt like three years. Hannibal inhaled deeply before pulling away, savoring the scent. Will looked dazed, in the best possible way, with the most perfect smile Hannibal had ever seen.

“Hello again,” Will laughed when his thoughts cleared, then laughed more incredulously as it all suddenly clicked together. “You! You’re the- _you’re_ the Ripper, it’s - _that’s_ why you felt so familiar before. Of _course_ you are. No one is that perfect.”

“You are,” Hannibal replied, smiling back.

“Forgive me, no one is that perfect without a dark side.”

“Again, you are still perfect. Now, please tell me your name, I cannot lose you again.”

Will bit his lip in that devilishly charming way. “My name is Will. Will Graham.”

“Hannibal Lecter,” the other man said, offering a hand. Will laughed again.

“I uh, I’d rather kiss you again, if it’s all the same to you,” he blushed. Hannibal granted his wish and kissed him again.

This time, Will broke the kiss, looking down at the corpse. “Where’d you put the heart?”

“Would you still have made the connection if I invited you over for dinner?”

Will laughed again. “I don’t know the last time I’ve laughed so much. But there is a problem, you realize.”

“What?” Hannibal asked, and Will almost laughed again at the flash of panic in is expression.

“Jack won’t let me rest until I catch the Ripper for him.”

Hannibal relaxed, his own smiled creeping back as he gently touched brushed another lock of hair out of Will's eyes. “But you _have_ caught the Ripper, my love. He is _all_ yours.”

“Told you I liked fishing,” Will teased. “Point still stands, what are we going to do?”

Hannibal offered his arm, and Will took it, rolling his eyes, but he was really amused. “I’m going to take you away from all of this.”

Will blushed, then stammered, “Th-thank you, I don’t know if I deserve-”

“You deserve everything I can give you,” Hannibal replied, kissing him one more time before they headed up the hill.

***

Jack’s eyes narrowed at Will being so close to the doctor, smiling, even. Hannibal was looking at him like he put the stars in the sky before he turned away and looked at Jack.

“Ah, Jack,” he said, as though he just noticed him. “As Will’s therapist-”

“You’re - you’re not his therapist-”

“I’m speaking,” Hannibal pressed, then continued. “As Will’s therapist, I have found that he is mentally unstable-”

“I could tell you that.”

“Jack,” Hannibal declared, his eyes growing hotter with barely contained anger. “Will is mentally unfit, so under doctor’s orders, I hereby remove him from your team and this case.”

Jack nearly turned purple. “Will!” he shouted, but Will didn’t even flinch. He just stared back, the smile not fading.

“I **_quit_** ,  Jack,” he said. “I’ll turn in my badge tomorrow. Go find the Ripper yourself.”

“But - but-” Jack sputtered out in defeat, as both men bid him goodbye and went to Hannibal’s car, leaning against it. When they were hidden from view, they embraced in another kiss.

“I could kill him for you,” Hannibal muttered into the kiss. Will giggled, actually giggled. It felt almost foreign.

“Oh, I think the fact that he will never catch the Ripper now is a suitable punishment.”

“Especially since you are soon-to-be-married to your work.”

Will raised an eyebrow, amused. “Already a proposal?”

“Would you prefer to wait?”

“I’ll say yes, eventually. We should probably get to know each other a bit more before then, right? For instance, I have more dogs than just Winston.”

“I have a large backyard,” Hannibal smiled. “…And a large bedroom.”

“Getting fresh there, doctor,” Will grinned, kissing him again. “At least make me dinner first.”

And then Will and all of his dogs moved in with Hannibal, and they all lived happily ever after.

_(Except for Jack and his team, who never caught the Chesapeake Ripper. The End.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos, they really mean a lot!!!!!!
> 
> Tomorrow: The Little Mermaid, Marlana-style.


	4. Sleeping Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Sleeping Beauty.
> 
> (More of a Maleficent take on this tale, but still Hannigram)

It was done.

The castle in ruins, all the subjects asleep forever. Even the king and queen. Hannibal smiled at the destruction around him, the magic swirling in his fingertips.

And the prince, asleep.

_(No, he had not placed the curse on the prince. He had merely reminded the royal family of what the prophecy stated. He had merely helped the events along.)_

He had surrounded the entire kingdom in thick, spiralling hordes of sharp thorns. No one dared to enter, and the few brave fools who tried were easily halted with his dragon form.

There were no more champions. None would risk saving the prince.

_The king and queen burst into Will’s room, horrified to see Hannibal there in all of his unholy glory._

_“You fools,” he smirked. “You truly thought you would be safe? That he would be safe? Well, here’s your precious prince.”_

_He swept back his cape to reveal the motionless body of Prince Will._

_***_

Hannibal slowly climbed the steps to the tower, one at a time. He was savoring this, every second. It was a beautiful, twisted design that had been created.

For the prophecy had stated that Prince Will would drag the kingdom into everlasting darkness. Therefore he had always been treated at arm’s length by everyone, even by his own parents. As something beautiful yet horrifying to behold.  
But they were completely unaware of Will’s true nature: he thrived on empathy. He empathized with everyone around him, felt how each and every person could feel.

Even Hannibal, and it was a sensation for someone to understand his coal-black soul and even see past it.

No one, though, had ever tried to empathize with Will.

But Hannibal had.

He had found that Will had never craved affection and understanding, he had never truly had it, why should he want for it? But a few touches, a few soft words, and Will had fallen fast.

_“Yes,” Will breathed out, body pressed against a solid oak tree. Hannibal was whispering into his ear, words of magic, of longing, of lust. He ran his fingers through Will’s dark brown curls, and Will could feel magic tingling his skull, and sighed in bliss._

_“Gorgeous, my love,” he purred against Will’s ear, grinding his hips against him. “Do you know what you do to me?”_

_“Yes,” Will moaned this time. “God, yes.”_

_“I am not a god, Will.”_

_“Oh g- fuck, yes, yes I know that. I know you. I. Know. You.”_

_“And how does that make you feel?” Hannibal asked, kissing just under Will’s jaw._

_“I am- I - I am enchanted and terrified,” Will groaned, pulling Hannibal even closer. The other man smiled, teeth against Will’s jaw._

Hannibal had reached the top of the stairs now, and stood outside the door, thinking over the events that had led to this.

_Will had snuck back inside, avoiding all inquiries as to where he was and what he was doing, and made his way up to his room. But on the stairs, he noticed a dark red light, softly glowing before him. When he reached up to touch it, it floated out of his grasp. He followed it, climbing the stairs higher and higher until he reached the top of the tower and into Will’s room. He noticed the red light glowing around the needle on the spinning wheel that had suddenly appeared in the room._

_Will suddenly felt Hannibal behind him. He was touching his shoulder, whispering into his ear. He could even feel his hot breath against his neck._

_Touch it, his voice murmured. Touch it._

_Will reached his hand out, as though he were under a spell, and pricked his finger on the needle. He stared at the tiny dot of blood on his finger and felt his eyes get heavy. He felt unable to stand straight, the strange sensation of floating and then falling._

_The last thing he saw was Hannibal’s small, devious smile, and then he faded into nothingness._

Hannibal pushed the door open now, pausing in the doorway to gaze at the beautiful display before him.

Will, sleeping peacefully in bed, his face framed perfectly by chocolate-brown curls, hands folded against his chest. Hannibal smiled, then moved beside the bed. He drank in the image before him, before softly pressing his lips to Will’s, then pulled away.

For the first time in his life, Hannibal’s chest froze with fear for a moment when Will did not stir.

No, no, _no_ , this wasn’t right, Will was his, he - he _loved_ him, Will - Will loved him back, right? _Right?_ He had been so sure, so positive that Will loved him. What if - what if he didn’t? What if Will was only playing him the way he had originally played Will? But - but then he had _truly_ fallen for Will, he - he-

Suddenly, Will’s eyelids fluttered, and he slowly blinked awake. He looked up at Hannibal and smiled.

“Hannibal,” he whispered, reaching a hand out to touch him. Hannibal leaned back on instinct. Will’s brow furrowed. “No, let me touch you. What if I’m still dreaming, and you’re not real? I need you to _feel_ real, to know you’re with me. Please, Hannibal, I _love_ you.”

Hannibal was unable to respond verbally, he was so taken aback. No one had ever had that power over him. However, he was still drawn to Will’s lips like a magnet, kissing him, breathing against his lips. This time, as he pulled away, he pulled Will into a sitting position, pressing their foreheads together.

Will kissed Hannibal on the nose, smiling. “Now where do we go? I assume the darkness and decay has spread over all by now.”

“And so it has,” Hannibal grinned, “Now we will spread it further throughout the land, near and far, until all know and fear us.”

“I think I’d like that,” Will whispered, kissing Hannibal on the neck, biting down on a vein and then lapping up the blood. Hannibal found himself groaning from the sheer pleasure, so much that he pushed him back down on the bed, crawling on top of him, biting under his ear, savoring the taste of blood coating his tongue.

“I love you,” Hannibal murmured. Will chuckled, tangling his hand in his hair, feeling the magic spread through both of them, letting the darkness seep through their pores.

“I love you, too, my devil,” Will smirked.

In the arms of his undoing, was his new beginning. And both were finally at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: The Little Mermaid, but with lesbians.


	5. The Little Mermaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Little Mermaid, with Marlana. My favorite girls deserve all the happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Still working on this project, fuck you ADD, you will not stop me now, I am on a mission.

Once upon a time, there was a mermaid named Margot. But Margot was not content to be a mere mermaid, no, she dreamed of life up on the surface. Away from her evil brother, Mason, who stole her voice from her years ago. Her beautiful singing voice, gone forever, stuck in a shell he wore around his neck.

So instead, she would spend hours swimming around, collecting all the human objects she could find, wishing she could join the humans up on the beach.

One day, a storm came sweeping through as she was watching a new ship. Margot usually loved the storms, it churned the water, made it frothy and bubbly. But it was different this time, there was a lovely woman on the ship, dancing and twirling. She was the most beautiful human Margot had ever seen. She wished for nothing more than to join her on the land to make her laugh.

But the storm sprang up so suddenly, and the ship started teetering dangerously, trying to stay afloat. Margot dived down deeper when suddenly a wave rose up and struck the side of the ship, causing a piece of it to break off. She stared at the wreckage, all the wooden planks, glints of jewels, but then - _then!_ \- the beautiful woman from before, sinking quickly, unable to breathe. Thinking fast, Margot swam up and caught her, carrying her up to the surface. She panicked when she saw that she wasn’t moving, so she swam over to the large rock she enjoyed relaxing on, and placed the woman on it.

She brushed the hair out of her face, letting the sun capture her features. Margot smiled down at her, wishing that she could say something to her. She stayed by her side until she started shifting around, coughing up water. Margot saw her eyes just beginning to flicker open, and her hand brushed Margot’s cheek when a shout came from the ship as it started to float closer. She dove deep under the water just as the woman blinked awake fully and sat up, waving her ship closer.

“Alana,” her friend Will stated as he helped her back onto the ship. “Are you alright?”

Alana nodded, looking back down into the water. “A - a _girl_ saved me. She was beautiful, like - like a _mermaid_.”

Will only laughed, pulling her along. “I think we should have a doctor look you over, my lady. You inhaled too much sea water.”

***

“ _Soooo_ , Margot found herself a _human_ ,” Mason grinned as he teased his little sister, playing with the shell necklace that kept her voice trapped. She rolled her eyes and looked away. He always knew what she was doing, she’d never escape him.

“Even saved her, impressive.”

Margot only shrugged.

“You know you are forbidden from ever interacting with a human, sister dear. You’ll have to be punished. And I know just the one.”

She wasn’t scared of him, not at all. What else could he do to hurt her?

One day she’d be able to get revenge. _One day._

“I’m going to give you what you want.”

_You’ll kill yourself?_

“I’ll turn you into a human, _dearest_ Margot.”

That was enough for her to finally look up, false hope in her eyes. It made Mason sneer more.

“Yes, you can go and live up on the land, be with your little human, but as soon as you dive back into the water after three days, you’ll turn into the wretched little creature you, and you’ll never see your human again.”

Margot only nodded sadly, unable to do anything else as sharp, blistering pain shot through her tail. It felt as though the bones themselves were breaking and reforming, and it was getting hard to breathe. She swam, swam faster than ever before, desperately racing to the surface, and taking a massive breath as she popped up, fresh tears brimming in her eyes from the stinging numbness in her tail. She let the waves carry her to the beach, where it dropped her in the soft, white sand. Looking down, she silently gasped in delight to see two human legs where her tail was. Exhaustion soon wore out, though, and she passed out on the beach.

She woke up to the feeling of someone touching her shoulder, and she flinched awake.

“Oh!” It was the woman from earlier, the one she saved. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. My name is Alana.”

 _Alana_. Margot smiled, making the human smile back. “What’s your name?”

The smiled dimmed as Margot tried in vain to speak, but then shook her head sadly.

“You can’t speak?” Alana asked. Margot looked down and shook her head again. “Oh no, I’m sorry! Here, I’ll send for some clothes and food. Let me help you.”

She extended a hand, and Margot took it, shaking as she was helped to her new feet.

***

Three days had almost passed, and Margot had never felt happier. Every moment had been wonderful. Alana had taken her through the town, showing her all of the human places and objects. She made her laugh, not knowing that a “fork” was not a hair ornament. She learned about human customs, learning their language. People were kinder up on the surface, they didn’t scoff at her, toss her aside. Mason was gone, at least for now.

And they danced, every night, even though it hurt her new feet to move so quickly. The music, and the dancing, and the laughter from Alana made it all worth it, though.

She knew this wasn’t to last, in fact, her time was almost up. But, oddly, she was at peace. She had had a friend, a true friend, for once in her life. It didn’t matter to her that her romantic love may not be reciprocated, it only mattered that she had had these precious three days.

Her only regret was that she could not tell Alana how much she loved her.

They were on Alana’s boat, sitting by the side, staring at the sun beginning to set.

“Will you stay?” Alana asked her. “I would very much like it if you stayed here with me.”

Margot could only shrug, but smiled as Alana took her hand.

“Well, I thank you for these past three days,” Alana smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to Margot’s hand. Margot’s heart skipped a beat, then suddenly dropped to all the way to her feet in abject horror as she saw the disgusting, tall form of her brother climb from the side of the ship, holding a long sword.

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, and Alana looked behind her to see the monster behind her. She nearly screamed.

“Looks like you got a kiss, little sister. And I didn’t even tell you the loophole,” he grinned, his yellow teeth stained with seaweed. “Too bad your precious princess will die never even knowing your name.”

He reached up with the sword, but Margot pushed Alana out of the way and finally attacked her brother, pushing him off the side of the ship into the sea. She braced herself for him to kill her, for her to change into some poor creature, when she felt another fall into the sea beside her, wrapping their hands around Mason’s neck, breaking the necklace chain.

Margot’s lungs were burning, so she desperately fought to get back up to the surface, finally breaching it and taking in a precious gulp of air. That other figure popped up beside her. Alana.

“Are-are you alright?” she breathed out, recognition sparkling in her eyes. “You- _you!_ I _knew_ that I knew you, you saved me when I fell off my ship.”

Margot nodded. “Y-yes. I am.”

Both women gasped.

“You can talk!”

“I-I can _talk!”_ Margot squealed, then laughing outright, laughing at the sound of her voice, it had been so long. “You - when you broke that shell, that necklace, you freed my voice

Alana looked down at the necklace crushed in her hand, then back at Margot. “What- what’s that in your hands?”

Margot looked down at the frantic little crab clenched tight in her hands, then grinned wickedly. “Mason, it would seem. It all backfired, the _spell_ backfired when you kissed me. It turned _him_ into a wretched little thing instead.”

“You mean that - that thing that tried to kill me?”

“Yep,” Margot laughed, laughing because she hadn’t been able to in years. “And - and yes, I’d very much like to stay with you. I, uh, love you.”

Alana swam closer, kissing her on the lips. “I love you, too.”

Both women laughed together, kissing again as a rope was dropped from the side of the ship

“For heaven’s sake, my lady,” Will sighed as they helped themselves back up to the ship. “You really must stop jumping into the sea like this.”

*** 

“Lady Margot,” Hannibal nodded as he rolled dough out for bread in the ship’s kitchen. “I heard that you are able to speak again.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “A miracle, truly. I was wondering if you would make that delicious crab soup again.”

“Alas, my dear, I have no crab.”

Margot smiled, extending her arms to show a rather large crab. “I think this will do, no?”

“Ah, thank you,” Hannibal replied, taking the lid off of a pot and taking the crab from her. It waved its claws around frantically, but Margot only smirked as it was dropped into a pot of boiling water, the screaming of the steam music to her ears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: Beauty and the Beast, starring Reba and Francis.


	6. Beauty and the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauty and the Beast, starring Hannibal's own tragic Beauty and the Beast, Reba and Francis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! For the next few days, I'll be posting mostly drabbles, as I have ea college paper to finish, but I promise I'll have some longer ones later. In the meantime, enjoy!

“Hello? Is anyone home?”

The beast lifted his head up from where he was resting it on the desk, perking up at the sound of a guest.

No one came to this place anymore, ever since the curse was placed upon him and he looked like  _this_.

Out of curiosity and a desire to scare away any interlopers, he got up from his chair and made his way to the top of the staircase. The sight below him took his breath away.

An angel of a woman was smiling as she felt her way along the walls, tracing her long fingers over the ridges and curves of the sculptures.

She called out again. “Hello? I heard someone, please come out.”

He carefully made his way down the stairs, but his foot came down on a squeaky board, causing her to immediately turn around. He flinched, afraid to see her reaction to his hideous form.

Except she wasn’t screaming in fear, she was only reaching out with an outstretched hand, smiling.

“Oh, hello. There you are, I didn’t hear you before.”

 _She was blind,_  he suddenly realized.

“I’m terribly sorry, I became lost on my way back home. Luckily I found you.”

“Dangerous out there, all alone,” he replied gruffly.

“Oh, but I  _love_  adventure,” she exclaimed as he came closer. “I’m so glad you don’t mind me stopping by. I can be on my way once the rain outside stops.”

He stopped before her, afraid as she reached out towards him, touching his fur. Her face was clouded over with fascination as she felt across the fur up his arm, across his shoulder, and then, ever so hesitantly, his fangs and his face.

Part of him wanted to curl up and die, for there was no way such a pure creature would ever want to be near him, but he saw her smile.

A smile.

“You’re beautiful,” she said softly. “Is this - is  _this_  the only reason you keep yourself cooped up in here?”

“My lady, the villagers would rather kill me than speak to me.”

She frowned then, the first he’d seen her expression change. “What a shame. Have you no friends here at all?”

He shook his head, looking away from her. Her hand cupped under his chin, and gently pulled it in her direction. Her other hand reached up, tracing across his face, his horns, his fangs.

She smiled again. “You are beautiful, friend. What is your name?”

The tears were falling freely from his eyes now. “F-Francis, my lady,” he croaked. She wiped a tear away, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Hello, Francis. My name is Reba.”

He smiled through his tears, gently placing his claws in her soft black hair. “You - you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

“Would - would you tell me more?” she asked, a little shy now. “I - I’ve never known what I looked like.”

“I will tell you how I see you, just as you can see me for who I am,” he replied. “Would you stay for tea?”

She smiled brightly. “Yes, please. Thank you, kind sir.”

“No, thank  _you_ , kind lady. For being here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: A Whole New World...


	7. Aladdin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Hannigram crack. With a dash of songfic.

_“A whole new world…”_ Will sung out as he carefully removed an eye from the socket of their latest kill and continued the song. Hannibal raised an eyebrow from where he was making an incision right under the last right rib.

“Singing, Will?”

“You don’t like it?”

“Quite the contrary, it is _delicious_.”

“You’re just hungry, dear,” Will smirked, scooping out the other eye. “It felt appropriate, you’ve brought me into this entirely new world and I’m actually happy for once. Let me sing.”

“The most beautiful voice in the world.”

“You can critique me, you know.”

“Not much to critique, only that you still haven’t changed your aftershave.”

“A little punishment for all the shit you’ve put me through,” Will teased, dumping the eyes into a bowl.

“I will accept it. That was a lovely song, do continue.”

“Only if you sing the other half.”

“…”

“Holy _fuck_ , Hannibal Lecter’s never seen Aladdin. This is gold, I should send that to Freddie Lounds.”

“Would you like to be caught?”

“No, I just think it’s funny. Am I the street rat or the prince stuck in a palace? Why am I even asking you, you’ve never watched a Disney movie in your life, I bet.”

Hannibal rolled his eyes. “My time in my youth was spent improving upon my skills, developing new hobbies, learning new languages.”

“Yeah, well, after we get this guy in the freezer we’re having a Disney marathon.”

“How thrilling.”

“I could practically _taste_ the sarcasm on that,” Will laughed, picking up the packaged meat. “I’m going to put these away, yes, correctly, you get cranky when the kidneys are next to the brains.”

Hannibal let himself smile, leaning over the corpse and kissing Will very gently on the lips. “Perfect, love. I’ll even make popcorn.”

“At least a cup of butter.”

“Will!”

“Not that rosemary and sea salt with a dash of Parmesan isn’t incredible, but I want butter. Pretty please?” He even fluttered his eyelashes for good measure. Hannibal sighed, knowing that he had him.

“Alright. But I’m picking the drink.”

“Disney movies with butter popcorn and incredibly expensive Chianti with my stuffy husband smiling at cheesy jokes? Pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, love, Chianti doesn’t pair with butter.”

Will laughed again, heading up the stairs. “You’re ridiculous, I’m glad I married you.”

“As am I, Will. Love is sacrifice.”

“I know what you’re implying, I’ll wear the new aftershave you bought me, dear. I’ll even put it on for the movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments, they mean a lot to me!
> 
> Tomorrow: something...Swan Princess inspired, but a healthy shot of Black Swan with it as well.


	8. The Swan Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack cannot let Will and Hannibal go. Until he receives a video in an email showing a stunning ballet.

Jack hadn’t been the same since Will and Hannibal went over that cliff and never resurfaced. They were alive, he just knew that they were, even though they were declared dead. Purnell told him to drop the case or else finally retire. He chose to drop the case.

But he didn’t. He _couldn’t_.

He had borrowed Will’s imagination and he had broken it. Then dragged him back when he finally got out of this life, dragged him away from Molly and back into Hannibal’s clutches.

And now he was _gone_. If he wasn’t dead because of the fall, Hannibal was probably torturing him wherever they were. He shuddered to think of what Hannibal would do after Will tried to kill him this time.

Jack owed it to Will to find him. To set things right.

It had become an obsession that ate away at him, day after day. It interfered with his other cases, it gnawed at him as he tried to sleep. So many fuzzy photos, so many grainy videos.

His biggest break was finding Dr. Du Maurier in a classy apartment in upstate New York, in a nondescript neighborhood, not thrilled at the prospect of an interview. Her long blonde hair was shorter now, in a jagged cut, and there was also the small matter of the fact that she only had one leg. She downed two painkillers with a glass of Chardonnay as he sat in front of her.

“It still hurts,” he asked, but phrased it as a statement. She only scoffed at him cracking open a fresh bottle and pouring another glass, even if she refused to 

“Amputate a leg, you can still feel it tickling, twitching where it once was. An itch you can never really scratch, there’s nothing there. I still remember how it tastes,” she said passively, staring into her glass. “Nothing washes that taste out.”

“Dr. Du Maurier-”

“It tasted like _pork_. Isn’t that funny? Like _pork_. He did it Kalua style, roasted ti leaves and all. I think there was some pineapple juice in the marinade for it, some roasted peppers, something tangy. Maybe that was just my flavor, though. You know, women eat pineapple so that they taste better, that probably has something to do with it, I did eat garlic before that dinner.”

Jack interrupted her, uncomfortable with how blasé she was about her situations. “Bedelia,” he stated firmly, using her name to get her to look up at him. “Hannibal- where is he?”

“Don’t you mean _they?”_

“I-”

“You don’t want to admit it,” she sighed, taking a long sip. “You don’t want to admit it to yourself, Jack Crawford. Will Graham’s not eating oysters for Hannibal, he’s eating pineapple and drinking cranberry juice.”

“What are you-”

“I was still high after dinner, but I’m pretty sure they christened my guest room, I heard it,” she groaned, taking a slug right from the bottle. “I’m hoping I can wreck my liver and poison my blood so I taste real bitter if they come back.”

“You’re not making sense, doctor.”

“I’m not, Jack?” she snapped. “Get it through your skull, and _give up on them._ The Will Graham you knew was never real. And you will never catch them. You found us in Italy because Hannibal wanted you to, he wanted _Will_ to. You think he’ll let you find him _now_ , with his ultimate prize _finally_ in his arms? It’s like a shit ballet, going round and round the stage but we all know the ending anyway.”

Jack said nothing for a while. “...I _have_ to find them.”

“I’ll send flowers to your funeral, then. Goodbye, Jack.”

***

“Jack?” Brian asked hesitantly, knocking on the doorframe to his office. Jack only glared from behind his laptop. Brian knew what he was doing, he was searching the crazy conspiracy side of the Internet looking for pictures, videos, any sort of proof of either Hannibal or Will’s existence. It was getting scary, watching stoic Jack Crawford stand on the precipice of mad obsession.

“Jack, we found something on the Lance case, could you-”

“I’m busy, Brian, I’ll be down later.”

He couldn’t hold back. “Jack, please, you need to stop doing this. Just - just let them _stay_ dead. Maybe - maybe they _deserve_ each other.”

“Out,” Jack growled. Brian bit his lip and nodded, leaving the room. He shook his head to Jimmy outside, who had sent a questioning look.

“He can’t let them go, he’ll look at every grainy photo and video there is. I’ve seen better pictures of Bigfoot than the ‘proof’ he obsesses over.”

Meanwhile, Jack had received a new email, with an attached video and a note:

_Stop looking, Jack._

Angry, and with nerves jumping, he clicked on the video crudely titled _Rothbart and the Black Swan._

The screen lit up with a scene of a costume ball, elegant in nature, probably no more than a hundred people in attendance. It was apparent that the camera was placed up in a balcony above the ballroom, and was scanning over the crowd. The timestamp dated it. Two weeks ago today. From the muttering of the cameraman, somewhere in Italy. Tuscany? Venice? It was unclear.

The camera chose to zoom in on a man in an fancy crimson suit jacket, a cape and mask to match, his hair back in a slight ponytail. There was a fencing sword in a scabbard by his leg. Maybe it was real, maybe it wasn’t, none of the guests seemed to not notice or care. He was finishing his drink, handing the glass over to a waiter before crossing the room, in search of someone. The camera zoomed in and out of focus, obviously trying to avoid detection until it finally stopped on the man bowing to another man, offering his hand for a dance.

Jack examined this new player carefully. Short brown hair, left long enough for it to curl. The black feathered mask covered his features well, and he had what appeared to be an engraved hunting knife strapped to his thigh. But what really struck Jack was how the man was dressed all in black, complete with a cape that looked as though it were made of raven feathers.

He accepted the man’s offer as the orchestra struck up the next song. Jack found that he recognized the song, and it tugged on painful memories.

It was _Scène: Allegro, Tempo di valse, Allegro vivo_ , of Swan Lake.

When she was alive, Bella had loved the ballet. One of Jack’s fondest memories was taking her to a production of Swan Lake for their anniversary, and seeing her eyes light up with the stage. And he would admit, it was a beautiful performance, and no performance had been as memorable as the first time he saw it. He remembered Bella gasping at the ending, where the prince and his love, the White Swan-

_lept into the lake together to avoid being separated._

Jack’s eyes widened in horror and realization as he watched the mystery pair danced so in tune with each other. It was uncanny. They flowed together as though they were two halves of one person. For a while the man in crimson led, then his partner took over, and they switched back and forth over and over again with no discernible pattern, always changing, always turning, but never stepping out of place.

The song. The song. _Scène: Allegro, Tempo di valse, Allegro vivo._ It was the song of the Black Swan’s dance of deception.

And the man in the crimson suit was dancing with his own black swan. They were fooling the crowd, _all of them._

The black swan looked as though he was being led, but instead was leading with such obvious, controlling ease it was though he was born for this role. He was composed, lithe, but - but he felt _dangerous_ , almost as though he could turn around and snap at any moment.

The man spun his black swan around when he was leading again, twirled him away before bringing him back even closer. A hand possessively gripping his partner’s lower back, as the partner had an arm around his neck while holding the other’s hand.

When the crimson prince spun the black swan out again, the swan stared directly into the camera. Jack looked back and saw deep, piercing, _familiar_ blue eyes.

_If you stare long enough into the abyss, eventually the abyss will stare back into you._

He spun back into the arms of his crimson prince, clutching his shoulder with his black glove tight enough to rumple the velvet. It was passionate, it was carnal.

_Will._

_(Odette could only turn back into her true self if she won the love of one who had never loved before.)_

_Will was never the white swan, with the darkness fighting to take over. No. Will was always the black swan, and now he had shed his white, downy feathers for long, thick black ones._

It felt as though the dance went on forever, they danced around the room in hypnotic circles, twirling in time to the music, faster and faster, only focused on each other. Jack’s vision was blurring with black feathers, the music sounded like wings flapping, tearing at his skull. Will was transforming before his eyes as they spun faster and faster. He was becoming a real black swan, his arms became wings, embracing his darkness along with - with - Hannibal.

Hannibal was never the damn prince in this story. He was Rothbart, he had transformed Will, but not into a pathetic little thing. A helpless little swan became a confident, horrifying force. He was his.

And then, just like that, the music stopped on the crescendo. The prince dipped the swan into a final pose and held it. Then he pulled him back up, only for the swan grip him by the collar and yank him down into a hard kiss.

Around them, the crowd clapped, and Jack felt like clapping as well, as his veins filled with cold dread.

The swan broke the kiss first. Blood was smeared across his lips, and the prince’s lip was bleeding from a bite. But he was smiling, looking proud. The swan was smiling as well, leaning close to his prince, not even turning as he snatched a piece of pineapple off of a waiter’s tray. He slowly ate it, slowly dragged the toothpick out between his teeth. He winked.

That was enough, Jack couldn’t stand it any longer, he pressed 'pause.'

He closed his eyes to try to calm down. He took a deep breath and reopened his eyes, hitting the play button again.

But there was no prince. There was no swan.

They were never there. _They were never there._

He was losing it.

 _He was losing it_.

But then he heard choked sputters and the camera turned around. The cameraman’s eyes rolled back and went cold, his body jerking like a dying fish. The engraved knife from earlier was removed from the man’s chest. Jack squinted in order to make out the face of the killer, but all he saw was the Black Swan staring into the camera as the prince pressed kisses down the hollow of his throat. The Swan smiled, a gloved hand tousling the other man’s hair and murmuring something in French.  
He smirked into the camera, before suddenly reaching out and sending the camera smashing into the ground, causing Jack to physically jump out of his chair. He swore loudly, slamming the laptop closed, slamming that chapter of the case closed.

 _La commedia è finita._ The comedy is finished.

Jack’s dreams that night were filled with images of black feathers and crimson velvet and bloody lips and blue eyes, with Swan Lake playing in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment, I'll reply within 24 hours!
> 
> Tomorrow: basically an excuse for Will Graham to talk in a Southern accent and Hannibal likes that.


	9. The Frog Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has less to do with the actual fairytale, and more an excuse for Will to talk in a slight Southern accent. Hannibal likes that.

_“Merci beaucoup,”_ Will nodded to the waiter, accepting the ridiculously expensive glass of wine Hannibal had bought for him and sent over. Perks of being rich, Will was getting used to it, as well as staying in this fancy-ass hotel. He did miss Cuba, though, and his new pack of dogs. They had a wonderful caretaker, though, so he wasn’t worried about them.

Hannibal had suggested a quick trip to France, as Will had never seen Paris in the springtime. Or that was his excuse, at least. Will knew the _real_ reason, even if Hannibal would never admit it.

Recovery in a small house not far from the cliff had led to each other swapping childhood stories and memories as they licked their wounds. Hannibal told him about his childhood, his uncle was a count. He told him about his little sister, Mischa. She was dead now. Will hadn’t been used to seeing Hannibal vulnerable, and had only offered his shoulder to rest on.

Will himself had offered that living in the Cajun side of Louisiana had left him with a tinge of the accent. It had been buried since moving to Virginia. Hannibal had made a careful mental note of the fact, as it was intriguing.

When they had moved to Cuba, and finally coming to terms with how they truly felt with each other, Will was relaxed for the first time in years. They were safe together, even if they weren’t completely up to hunting together again. And he found himself slipping into to his old accent. He noticed that Hannibal visibly adjusted himself whenever he did.

One day, he accepted a cup of coffee early one morning with a “thanks, darlin’.” Hannibal dropped the fork he was beating eggs with right into the mixture, and Will caught him taking a slightly deeper breath than average.

Will was relaxed enough to be thrilled at the prospect of crawfish for dinner one night. He had slapped Hannibal’s hand away from the prep work. “You’re not making this all gourmet with liver and cilantro or something, I’m making them. The _correct_ way.”

He brought out the plate piled high with Cajun-style crawfish some time later, and was pleased with the impressed look on Hannibal’s face.

“It looks delicious,” he stated, scooping a serving onto his plate. Will almost punched in the shoulder for picking up a knife.

“Christ, Hannibal, pinch the tail and suck the head.”

Instantly, he felt himself blush with slipping into an old expression. Hannibal looked oddly charmed by the statement, enough to kiss him after dinner.

The fact that that was the first night they slept together might have been irrelevant. Maybe not. What _was_ relevant was the fact that Hannibal _fucking loved_ that side of Will, especially when he let it slip that he knew French.

If this was all it took to bring Hannibal practically (and sometimes _literally)_ to his knees, Will would have let slip the language years ago. He had called Hannibal Gomez after he got kissed up his arm and a whole lot more after calling him _chèr_ one time, and then had to explain the reference.

“Hannibal, we’ll get arrested for public indecency in France if you keep this up,” Will told him in bed, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice as Hannibal kissed behind his ear. “Is that really how you want us to be caught?”

Hannibal’s response was a whispered promise of everything they would do in Paris, and maybe a new dog when they came back. Will had agreed.

He was smiling at the memory when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see a beautiful woman standing beside him, a martini in hand.

 _“Excusez-moi, monsieur,”_ she smiled seductively. _“Parle anglais?”_

 _“Oui,”_ Will replied, smiling back. _“Le faites vous?”_

 _“Oui,”_ she smirked. “You are American, yes?”

“Yes, Louisiana, to be precise,” he said, putting on just the slightest hint of his accent for show.

“Ah. What do you do, _monsieur?”_

Will could see Hannibal noticing the conversation over her shoulder, and he looked slightly vexed. He decided to see how far he could push him.

“I work in bookselling,” he said to the woman, pretending to not notice that she was leaning in closer. “With my partner.”

“Partner?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “As in business or-” her voice dropped to a low purr, “ _pleasure_?”

Will smirked at her. “Bit of both, _madame.”_

 _“Mademoiselle, s’il vous plaît,”_ she said, obviously bold enough to place her hand on Will’s shoulder. Hannibal’s grip on his own wineglass was noticeably tighter as he watched them from the corner of his eye.

“Your lover, it wouldn’t be zat exclusive, could it?” she murmured, “A shame zat he would leave such a handsome man like yourself alone like zis. Someone may come and snatch you for themselves.”

Will only smiled. “Still kissing frogs, mademoiselle?”

Her face crumpled into confusion before she understood, and laughed, a bit too loudly. “Oh! Frogs, yes. Still looking for ze prince, it would seem.” Her voice dropped lower, and her hand slid up to rub behind Will’s neck in a seductive manner. “Perhaps I am in ze presence of one.”

Will looked over her shoulder to see Hannibal completely snap the neck of the wineglass in his grip, barely containing a snarl as little spatters of expensive Cabernet Sauvignon dotted his crisp white shirt of his tuxedo.

Down boy, Will thought, smiling innocently in his direction before turning his attention back to the woman.

“How unfortunate. I do wish I could help you, but I’ve kissed enough frogs in my life. Finally found a prince. Well, a count to be exact. He’s indeed one in a million, very special to me.”

Will could see that Hannibal’s very steady control had snapped with his wineglass and was making his way over. He could barely contain his excitement at the burning anger in his eyes, the stance of a predator coming to claim what was theirs.

Hannibal came around in front of them, and removed Will’s glass from his hand, setting it down on the table beside him. Then he put his arm around Will and roughly pulled him closer, yanking him away from the woman and holding him in an iron grip.

 _“Monsieur?”_ she asked, curious. Will smirked at her, leaning back into the touch before pretending to remember she was there.

“Oh, _pardon_ , this is the count that I mentioned earlier,” Will mentioned, a casual air to his tone.

Hannibal glared so fiercely at the woman that she straightened up and swallowed hard.

“ _Pardonne moi, **madame** ,”_ he said, not through his teeth but damn close. _“Retournez à votre coin de rue avant que je coupe votre coeur toujours-battant et mangez-le cru.”_

Her eyes widened in shock and horror, before backing away slowly and then turning and running out of the party to the open air outside.

Will laughed as Hannibal finally stopped glaring in the woman’s direction and looked back at his love. Will kissed him softly on the cheek before whispering,

“Take it easy, _chèr_. Set yourself down a spell.”

Immediately Hannibal gave Will a quick, firm kiss before pulling hard on Will’s arm, practically dragging him over to the elevator. As soon as they stepped inside, Hannibal slammed the door close button along with their floor number, then pressed Will against the wall of the elevator, kissing and biting at his neck before moving lower.

Will had the fleeting thought of this is how the great Hannibal Lecter would be caught, on his knees in a Parisian elevator.

“Staking your claim?” he asked, amused. Hannibal nosed against Will’s belt, looking up innocently.

“I may have lifted her business card. Feel free to call her, I’ll rip her throat out the second she steps through the door.”

“We can’t kill people in the hotel room, chèr, you know that,” Will reprimanded. Hannibal growled, practically rubbing his face against Will’s growing erection.

“I want to. Don’t stop saying that.”

“Saying what, _chèr?_ ” Will teased, tilting Hannibal’s chin back with his hand. “What would you like me to say? Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

Hannibal slowly got to his feet, pulling Will into a deep kiss just as the elevator doors opened. He pulled away to drag Will off of the elevator, past the shocked looks of the oncoming riders, and down to their room, impatiently swiping his key on the lock.

“Patience is a virtue,” Will said, smiling to himself as the door finally opened and he was yanked in and shoved up against the door.

“I’ve only ever been patient once in my life,” Hannibal murmured, kissing behind Will’s ear. “Three years in a prison cell, waiting for you. Now that I _have_ you, I don’t need to be patient anymore.”

Will smiled, content to let Hannibal show his unwavering devotion, but unable to keep himself from laughing. Hannibal paused.

“What, exactly, is so _amusing_ , love?”

“Oh, I asked her-” Hannibal bit down on a sensitive spot on Will’s shoulder at the very mention of _that woman_ “-if she was still kissing frogs. She said she was still looking for a prince.”

“And?”

“And I told her she was barking up the wrong tree, I’m no prince,” Will smirked. “Just the consort of a lowly count.”

Hannibal lifted Will up at this point, making him laugh even harder, carrying him, and then dropping him unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Ow, any way I could trade up to a prince?” Will smirked again as Hannibal climbed on top of him. It was a gentle kiss on the lips this time, and Hannibal burying his face against his neck.

“If anything, Will, it I who have a prince now, a poor, deposed count blessed with the love of a prince.”

“You’re so sappy,” Will smiled, running his hand through Hannibal’s hair. “Fine, I’m a prince and you’re a count. As your prince, I order you to please me.”

“How so, my lord?”

“Anyway you like.”

Hannibal smiled against Will’s neck. “…say it again.”

“Say what I want to hear, then.”

“… _please,_ Will.”

“ _Chèr_ ,” Will teased, “ _Je t'aime_.”

“ _Je t’aime,_ ” Hannibal murmured, reaching up to unbutton Will’s shirt. “…I still want to kill her.”

“Depending on your behavior tonight, I might let you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Retournez à votre coin de rue avant que je coupe votre coeur toujours-battant et mangez-le cru” roughly translates to "go back to your street corner before i cut out your still beating heart and eat it raw."
> 
> Yes, I make Addams Family references in literally everything I write. Yes, I have a problem. Oh and Will calling Hannibal chèr is my little homage to Rogue/Gambit, one of the early OTPs, amiright?
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos galore, and I'll reply to your comment within 24 hours. Thanks for reading;
> 
>  
> 
> Tomorrow: Crack I pulled out of thin air.


	10. Rapunzel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred Squared. Pure crack.

“OWWWW, motherfucker!”

Frederick Chilton was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, still holding onto long, red locks. The woman attached to the hair pushed him aside.

“Are you the prince?”

“…No.”

“Thank God,” she sighed, sitting back on her chair, staring down at him. “In case you’re wondering, I’m not a princess, I’m a witch.”

“Good to know, my lady.”

“Cut the shit, get me out. You’re a knight, be chivalrous.”

“Why are you trapped here?”

“Because the prince is a dick, a murderer, and a cannibal, and he put me in here so he can seduce the prince in the neighboring kingdom and not tell everyone that he’s evil.”

“What about the other prince?”

“Oh, they’re both evil, the other prince is the one that set me up here. Wanted me to shut up. If you get me outta here, I’ll make you famous.”

“…Fine, I’ll help you.”

“And don’t pull my hair!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave all the comments and all the kudos, and I'll reply to any comment you leave!
> 
> Tomorrow: The Snow Queen, but a little sad.


	11. The Snow Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Graham has a cursed mirror shard in his eyes, and in his heart. Only an act of true love can free him.

An evil troll once made a mirror that distorted the appearance of everything it reflected. The loveliest landscapes would look like a warzone, ugly and dying. The troll and his students tried to carry their mirror up to heaven to make a fool out of the angels and God, but the higher they got, the more the mirror laughed, until it laughed so hard that they dropped it, and when it hit the ground it shattered into millions of pieces. And the shards spread all over the earth, some as small of grains of sand, and they got into people’s eyes and hearts and froze them. It made them see the world as ugly and bitter, unable to truly love anything ever again.

In a village not far from where the troll lived, there was a man named Will, and his dearest friend, Alana. They were practically siblings, with how close they were, and it was considered a sure thing by the rest of the village that they would wed one day.

When they were children, Will’s grandmother told them stories of the troll’s mirror, but Will’s favorite story was always that of the Snow King. He was the ruler of the “snow moths": perfect little snowflakes that looked like moths, that flocked back home each and every day in the winter, and he himself is seen when the snow piles high enough. It was said that one kiss from the Snow King protected you from the cold, the second made you forget your previous life with your family and friends, and the third would stop your heart.

One day, as Will and Alana were out walking in the snow, a magic mirror shard fell from a high branch of the old fir tree and right into Will’s eye. 

“Will!” she gasped, reaching her hands towards his face, but he flinched. He turned away from his companion in disgust, running back home. For he could only see her in a negative light and he hated the sight.

No one in the village knew what to do for Will, his situation looked hopeless. Now, he never even left his small house. Everything was ugly to him now, and he snapped at anyone who came near him. The only thing that he could still find beautiful were the snow moths that fluttered outside his frosted window.

“Whatever shall I _do?”_ Alana asked in despair to Will’s grandmother. The woman set down her tea and fixed Alana with a look.

“Alana, my child,” she sighed. “Only an act of true love can remove a shard from the eye.”

So Alana came to Will’s door, hoping to save him from the curse. She embraced him in the doorframe, kissing him. He pushed her away, not out of cruelty, but out of sadness. He shook his head no.

“Alana, you are a dear friend, but-but I can’t look at you with the shard in my eye. I don’t want to look at you like this.” And he slammed the door in her face. Alana cried as she went back to her home.

Will stood there, standing at the door, before breaking out of his trance to stand out beside the window, looking out at the snow moths. They seemed to beckon him closer, whispering to come outside and follow them. Without much hesitation, he pulled on his winter coat and joined them outside on the snow, following them down the path in the forest.

They were going back to the palace of the Snow King.

For you see, Will had a secret, one he had never told Alana or his grandmother. He had seen the Snow King. More than that, actually.

_It had been only two years ago. Will had gone outside, for there were so many snow moths they had covered the land like a blanket and his curiosity won out in the end. He scooped them up into handfuls and released them, watching them fly on the cold gust of air._

_It was then he noticed the figure of a man standing in the snow, over by the trees. He came closer, closer, but the man still seemed like a blurred figure. It was so blisteringly cold that Will could barely stand it, when the man was standing right before him. His fingers felt like icicles as he lifted Will’s chin up before pressing a kiss to his lips._

_**Beautiful** , the wind had howled._

_Will suddenly didn’t feel the cold. At most, it felt like a cool breeze on a summer’s day. He opened his eyes after the kiss, but the figure was gone, only snow swirling in his place._

_A snow moth flew past his ear and whispered, “The Master likes you very much, good sir. He will grant you one wish because you fascinate him. When you want to make the wish, simply follow us.”_

_Ever since then, Will felt protected from the winter. The cold didn’t get into his bones anymore, his crops sprouted in inches of snow. He had never asked for this, and it almost felt like too much._

_Sometimes, in the darkest of winter nights, Will curled up under his blankets and dreamed about the Snow King. He could never give him a face, exactly, only that he was the most handsome man that had he had ever seen, and his lips were soft and gentle. Every kiss felt like waking up to a fresh coating of snow outside in the early morning, where for just a moment, the world was at peace._

So now he followed the snow moths over hill, over dale, over all of the land Will had ever traveled in his life, into wild, unknown territory, until he came across a great snow palace that glowed from within.

The door had a complex lock that looked different than any Will had ever seen. It was the perfect shape for a snow moth, however. He reached out with a hand, and one rested on his finger and it even allowed him to place it in the lock. It unlocked for him, and he stepped through into the great palace. It seemed as though everything were made of ice or snow, and it was grander than anything Will had ever dreamed of. The ceilings towered over him, the staircases seemed to go into the sky.

He paused outside the entrance to the throne room, suddenly aware that he would only see the Snow King as something horrible and ugly. He didn’t want those dreams of his tainted.

“Who dares enter my palace?” a booming voice declared, as if he sensed his presence through the door. Will squeezed his eyes shut, and hesitantly pushed the door open.

“Will - Will Graham,” he stuttered out as he walked forward, eyes still closed as he took one gentle step after another.

The voice was still booming, but it had a soft tone to it now. “ _Will_. I have spent these past two years dreaming of the day you would come to me to make your wish.”

“I have one, sir,” Will replied. “I - I wish - I wish for you to kiss me. Two more times.”

The voice was silent for a moment. But Will didn’t expect it sound so _sad_ when it spoke again.

“But my darling, dearest Will, your heart will stop and you will die after the third kiss.”

Will felt the tears well up, and he was forced to wipe them away. “P- _please_. Do - do you know of the troll mirror? Of its shards and what they do to you?”

“Yes.”

“I have a shard,” Will whispered. “It’s in my eye, and I can feel it moving into my heart. I - I don't want to spend the rest of my life in this wretched hell, unable to see beauty anymore, and I don’t want to die hating you because my heart is too bitter.”

More silence. “Open your eyes, Will. I want to see you.”

Will violently shook his head. “No, p-please, I _can’t_. I want to die seeing you the way I remember in my dreams. Just- just _please, kiss me_. I’ve never asked you for anything. Please grant my wish.”

Will felt the Snow King stand from his throne, heard his footsteps approach, then stop before him. He could feel the coldness from his breathing, from his being.

“Is this _truly_ what you want, Will?”

Will nodded. “I - there is no other way.”

A cool hand brushed the hair from his face, sighing wistfully, and then cold lips pressed against his own. Like frostbite, like a part of him was freezing, growing numb, falling off. Will couldn’t remember ever being somewhere other than here, in the palace, with the Snow King.

The Snow King’s arms suddenly wrapped around Will in a tight embrace, his face pressed against Will’s neck as the cool hand stroked back his curls. Cold tears dripped onto his neck.

 _“Will,”_ the voice said, sounding like cracking ice. _“I love you.”_

And then he kissed him again. This time it was a firm kiss, _desperate_. It felt like a salvation, it was warm, and comforting, and so full of love that Will began to cry. He cried into the kiss. It hurt, like glass and sand were pouring out of his eyes, and his chest felt as though it would burst.

He had to open his eyes now, he had to.

When he finally opened them, he gasped into the kiss, making the Snow King pull away. And oh, he was the most beautiful man Will had ever met. Sandy blonde hair with streaks of grey, tall, handsome, dressed in the finest clothes, of furs and silks.

He looked up into Will’s eyes, wiping the little flecks of glass from the corners of them, his own dark maroon eyes full of wonder.

“I’m alive,” Will said aloud, a smile tugging at his lips. The Snow King smiled as well.

“The shard, it is free from your eye. How-”

“Only an act of true love can dislodge the shard,” Will said, thinking over what his grandmother had said. “And you - you _knew_ the third kiss would kill me, but you still did it because you - _you love me.”_

The Snow King nodded against his neck, still unwilling to let go of Will. “I do, Will. So very much.”

Will leaned in, pressing his luck by kissing him again. Nothing happened, except more of the warm feeling. “I love you, too, Snow King.”

He laughed outright. “Will, my love, you may call me Hannibal. That - that is my name.”

“Hannibal,” Will said, liking the way his name felt on his tongue. “What - where do I go now?”

Hannibal’s grip tightened on Will. “You’ll stay here, with me. Rule by my side, I have been lonely here for so long. Please stay, my love.”

“Yes,” Will replied with another smile, another kiss. “I’ll stay.”

* * *

 

Alana did not think of Will as much these days. Not since his grandmother had shaken her head at her when she returned after failing to remove the shard.

“Oh, Alana. You did not love Will. Not _true_ love, at least. Do not worry, I know in my soul that he will be fine.”

Alana had to doubt that, especially after a group of villagers went to his home to find him gone. He never returned, not after the winter ended, not for the entire year, or the year after that.

In the meantime, she fell in love with the lady Margot, who lived in the lord of the land’s house, and married her after he passed. Now she did not think of Will, only occasionally pangs of guilt that she never saved him.

When winter came around again, she was sitting in the drawing room with their son as Margot had some much needed rest, she had him all day. She was cooing at him as he giggled and reached out towards the window. There were so many snow moths outside, more than she had ever seen before.

She stood up and opened the window to get a closer look. They fluttered away from the windowsill, flying towards the trees.

“There they go, Samuel,” she said to her son, who squealed at the gust of cold air, snowflakes dotting his little face. “Those are the snow moths. They belong to their master, the Snow King. He lives a lonely life, they say, all alone in his giant ice palace. Some say you can see him when the snow is thick enough. Shall we look?”

He squealed, squirming towards the window. Alana smiled and leaned in closer, only to pause entirely at what her son was pointing at.

There were two figures, just barely outlined in the snow. Tall men, dressed in fine clothes as the snow moths fluttered around them.

The second man had the clearest blue eyes she had ever seen. Like freshly polished jewels. And those eyes were familiar.

_Will._

She wanted to call out, but then he embraced the Snow King and kissed him. The wind swirled the snowflakes around them, and then they disappeared. Disappeared into the snow.

Alana smiled then, and turned to her son.

“I was wrong, my snowflake. The Snow King is _not_ so lonely after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Don't ask me how Alana and Margot had a son, I just wanted to write him in. And Samuel is always my personal headcanon name for the Verger baby.)
> 
> Tomorrow: The Princess and the Pea, starring a very confident Will that sends Hannibal swooning.


	12. The Princess and the Pea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sassy Will Graham IS a real prince, dammit. Also Hannibal Lecter is fucking whipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen Once Upon a Mattress, the musical version of the Princess and the Pea, you MUST. It's got Carol Burnett, for god's sake. Anyways, I based my story on this version of the fairy tale.

The kingdom was in turmoil ever since the king and queen passed away. Their son Hannibal was old enough to rule, but there was a very strict caveat. His older sister Bedelia, had to rule alongside him until he married, and then she would have to leave to return to her actual position, ruling the other kingdom in the north, which was much smaller and felt more like a countess’s job than a queen’s. Full of rats and dirty turnip fields, and a terrible winegrape crop.

Unfortunately, Bedelia had a taste for the greater amount of power in her current position, and had no intentions of allowing her brother to marry.

The odds were in favor, too. For her brother had foolishly declared at eighteen that he would only ever marry real royalty, no impersonators. And by god, she was holding him to it. It wasn’t that difficult, as he didn’t really want to get married, either. So every time one of the silly people in the palace tried to bring in a royal, she gave them a test. They always failed.

Such as now, when the current princess-in-line burst into tears at hearing that she had failed.

“Goodbye, and good luck. Now get out,” Bedelia declared, rolling her eyes. Hannibal just shrugged as the princess cried as she ran out of the throne room.

“Now none of us can get married,” the lady Margot whispered to the woman beside her. Bedelia looked up.

“What was that, Lady Margot?”

“Oh!” she gasped. “I - I was just reminding her of the marriage law.”

“Lovely. Would you care to repeat it for the court?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she sighed, clearing her throat. _“Throughout the land, no one may wed, until the prince doth share his wedding bed.”_

Hannibal’s friend since childhood (and personal assistant) Alana subtly kicked him in the shin. He only fake smiled at Alana, then went back to looking bored. 

God, she couldn't believe him sometimes. He really was that arrogant and-and just plain old bitchy.

“Would it kill you to _pretend_ to like at least _one_ of them? It might give them more incentive to pass,” she offered in a whisper. He gave her a look.

“What makes you think that I wanted her to?” he replied, far too innocently. She hit him in the shoulder for that.

“Fine, Hannibal. Be a selfish prick. Keep ruling with your big sister that you hate.”

“I suppose I will, Alana. Unless you can find someone _better.”_

***

After the court was dismissed, Alana waited behind one of the pillars in the garden for Margot, pulling her into a kiss as she came out. Margot laughed, threading her fingers through her love’s hair before sighing, “I really thought she would pass, she filled all the qualifications.”

“I know,” Alana sighed back, taking her hand as they sat amongst the flowers in the royal garden. “And she was the last royal within fifty miles, and she failed.”

“It helps that the test is rigged,” Margot groaned. “Bedelia will never give up the throne without a fight. We just need someone to pass the damn test.”

Alana nodded, squeezing her hand slightly. “I want to marry you, then you’d finally get the inheritance you deserve. If only Hannibal wasn't such a pompous ass and actually try to be interested in another human being.”

“That’s like asking a leopard to change its spots. What we need is someone to really sweep him off his feet, knock him for a loop.” Margot sighed.

Alana laughed incredulously. “If only such a person existed.”

They sat together amongst the daisies and lavender plants, and pondered the issue for over an hour before Margot suddenly perked up.

“Remember when the prince went on that hunting trip in the Wolf Trap kingdom?”

“And didn’t come home until three weeks past when he was supposed to?” Alana replied, rolling her eyes. “Of course I do. What about it?”

“There’s a prince there, in that kingdom. And one of the messengers told me that Prince Hannibal was mailing three letters a week to that place, do you think-”

Alana grinned, pressing a kiss to her love’s cheek and making her laugh. “I think it’s worth a shot, don’t you think? You’re a genius, Margot.”

“I know,” she smiled. “It’s why you fell in love with me.”

“There is that, love."

***

 _Hannibal_ leaned onto his hand as he sat on the throne, awaiting the arrival of this prince who would try to prove that their authenticity. Alana had apparently found him from some gone-off kingdom. Bedelia had smiled in her certain way and said but of _course_ he could try.

“At least fake a smile,” Alana hissed through her own pasted-on grin, nudging him in the shoulder. “I handpicked this one for you, show your appreciation.”

“I don’t want to get married.”

“You also don’t like ruling with your sister, and I don’t like how I can’t marry the love of my life because of a dumbass remark you made when you were eighteen. So suck it up and _smile,”_ Alana said through her teeth. Hannibal gave her a glare, but straightened up and pretended to look invested.

Bedelia looked around the court expectantly, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Alana, isn’t this prince supposed to be here by now?”

“Yes, Your Highness, any moment now.”

“Well, punctuality certainly isn’t one of his-”

As if on cue, the doors to the throne room burst open, and in marched Prince Will.  And well, Alana loved Margot and had faith in the plan, but maybe they should have researched him a bit more, maybe gotten a description. Because he didn’t exactly look like a prince.

Messy curls that went in every direction, royal clothes that were faded and old with use, and mud caked on his boots and some on his hands. He wiped his face, leaving a small smear across his forehead. Rugged, rough around the edges. In other words, the exact opposite of Alana’s spoiled, not-a-hair-out-of-place prince charge.

“I’m _so_ sorry about being late,” he said, not looking sorry in the least. “My dog escaped on the journey here, but I caught him again. No worries.”

Bedelia glared at Alana, who chose to press her luck by looking at Hannibal and then nearly falling off the throne platform, because rather than looking annoyed at the man covered in mud his spotless throne room, he looked enchanted. As though he had never seen anything more beautiful.

“You are Prince Will?” Bedelia asked incredulously. Will only shrugged, gesturing to the crown he was wearing.

“Yeah, did I need papers to prove it or something? They’re in the carriage,” he said with a casual wave of the hand, then scratched his head and looking around. “Isn’t this the place looking for true royalty?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said. That was a surprise for the court, as Hannibal hardly ever spoke to a contestant. Will looked over at him, biting his lip with a charming look on his face before bowing slightly, then stepped closer to take his hand and kiss it lightly

“My lord,” he grinned as he stepped back. Alana was stunned at how Hannibal was now smiling for real, almost dazed. Bedelia, however, was not so amused. She could tell that this was a very different contestant, one that Hannibal actually seemed to be interested in. That would never do.

“So, when’s the test, Your Majesty?” Will asked, shrugging, oozing masculinity in his slouching stance. The exact opposite Alana thought that Hannibal would like. She really shouldn’t question Margot.

“Tomorrow,” Bedelia replied, coolly. “In the meantime, Hannibal, why don’t you go ahead and show him around the place? It would keep you both...occupied.”

“My pleasure,” Hannibal nodded, standing and offering his arm. Will graciously accepted and Alana swore she heard him mutter, “I’ll bet it is.”

***

They ended up in Hannibal’s library after walking the length of the castle, for some privacy. Hannibal tried to keep his composure as Will leaned ever so _seductively_ up against the ladder on his bookshelves. “Nice place, Hannibal. Are books all that you care about now?”

“Of course not, Will. You should know that.”

“Well, it sure seems like it,” Will shot back. “After you haven’t written me in _weeks,_ ever since the last hunting trip. I thought that we-”

“I still - like you, Will,” Hannibal ground out. Will laughed, tilting his head back so his crown tinged against the ladder. 

“You still like me? Funny, that’s not what you were slurring in my ear that night as we were-”

Hannibal shushed him, horrified that he felt himself actually _blushing._ Will had always been able to draw his emotions out so easily, liked he was playing a violin. “No one here knows about you, about us.”

Will pouted, _god_ he was beautiful. “What’s gotten into you, you haven't been this stuffy since the day I first met you. What’s the matter?”

Hannibal sighed, leaning against his desk. “I have to get married.”

“I’m here, darling. Take me.”

“Oh _god,_ don’t tempt me, Will,” he groaned, trying to push away his thoughts.

_He had first met Will on a hunting trip out in Wolf Trap, running into each other in the woods. And hell, he was the most gorgeous man he’d ever met. Intelligent, charming, confident in himself, and deadly with a knife._

_“Not bad, Your Highness,” he had teased when they had killed a rabbit together. “But I prefer...larger prey.”_

_They had killed a cruel lord in his own lands, and they were covered in blood and it was black in the moonlight. They had first kissed like that, tasting like metal, Will murmuring into his ear that they should rest back in Will’s castle._

_Hannibal had come home three weeks later than planned, Alana nearly lost it._

_“Where the hell have you been?” she scoffed, dumping all of his bloodstained clothes into the laundry._

_Oh, nothing much. Just alternating between killing pigs and laying in a warm bed with my lover. Occasionally walking one of his dogs._

Will only blinked at him innocently, bringing Hannibal back to the present. “You can marry me.”

“I - I have to marry a _real_ prince or princess.”

That got Will to straighten up and fix him with a hard look. “And what, you don’t think _I’m_ a real prince? Honestly, of all the _nerve,_ Hannibal.”

“Of _course_ I think you’re a real prince,” Hannibal snapped. “But the test-”

“Test?” Will laughed. “Please, your assistant and her lady, they’ve already told me about all of the tests your sister has ever come up with. The live autopsy viewing, piece of cake. I’ve been studying the questions of the oral test the entire trip here. You already know I can use a crossbow. Quit worrying.”

“But-”

Will finally walked away from the ladder and over to Hannibal, looking at him in a coy way. “You stubborn bastard, you’ve always hated being wrong.”

“I hardly ever am, Will.”

“Pompous ass.”

“Filthy dogmonger.”

“Careful, _Your Highness, ”_ Will breathed. They were mere inches from each other’s faces now, and Will was already pulling Hannibal closer by his collar. “That’s no way to talk to a _genuine_ prince.”

Then he leaned up and kissed him firmly. Hannibal almost fainted, and nearly forgot to return the kiss.

“So high-strung, darling,” Will sighed into the kiss. “What should we do about that?”

“Don’t stop. _Please.”_

***

Alana pulled away from the keyhole, gagging as silently as she could.

“What?” Margot whispered.

“Good news, they get along like a house on fire.”

“Bad news?”

“They're just about to have sex on the library desk, I think we’re needed in the other end of the palace.”

“Wow, straightlaced Prince Hannibal, undone by coarse, unrefined Prince Will? Wonders will never cease,” Margot laughed as Alana dragged her away.

***

Bedelia looked at her handiwork and smiled. This would be her greatest test of all. She wasn’t a fool, her previous tests would all fail on Prince _Whatsisname_. He was clever in that regard, and had help from Alana and her lady.

No, a different test was required. Will Graham could watch a body be cut open and consumed before him and wouldn’t blink, so she would perform a test of sensitivity.

Twenty soft, downy mattresses with the nicest pillows were piled onto a bed frame, and she smirked to herself as she removed a single pea from her sleeve and placed it right underneath the bottom mattress.

Tough, hardened, coarse Prince Will would never feel it. She didn’t even have to figure out a way to exhaust him for the night, her _dear_ brother was already doing that for her.

And sure enough, as he came in through the door, already looking half-asleep.

“Oh,” he yawned, blinking. “I’m sorry, I thought this was my room, I might have gotten turned around somewhere back-”

“No, you are in the right place,” Bedelia smiled. “I was just making sure your room was all prepared for you. You look rather tired. Long travels?”

“And hard,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with hidden secrets. He wasn’t as clever as he thought he was.

“Well, goodnight, Your Highness, “ she nodded graciously, curtseying once. He bowed slightly, already heading for bed and climbing up the ladder. Bedelia closed the door to his room, smirking as she walked away.

Will lay back in bed, feeling sated and exhausted, and closed his eyes, ready to fall into Sleep’s warm embrace…

_...when something poked him._

He sat up suddenly, punching the mattress down hard to get the lump out. Satisfied, he laid back down, only to find it was still uncomfortable.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hitting himself in the forehead. It wasn’t the end of the world, he’d stayed awake for days before, but not now, not when he had traveled so far and spent all afternoon with Hannibal and there was the test tomorrow-

Frustrated, he threw one of the pillows off the side. Maybe it was the problem. Too many blankets? No, just the right amount. It was the bed, the bed was awful. He tossed and turned for what felt like hours, maybe it was hours. He tore up the mattress under him, tossing the feathers around in frustration. Eventually he gave up and threw himself on his back, glaring at the ceiling.

“Okay, sheep,” he declared. “Let’s go. One. Two. Three. Four…”

 

Bedelia smiled at her brother as he sat in the throne beside her. “Good morning, Hannibal. You're in a good mood today.”

“I'm always in a good mood,” he shot back. “I simply hope the test goes well for Will today. I think he may pull it off."

A perfectly evil smirk spread across Bedelia’s face. “Oh, Hannibal, the test is already over.”

Margot suddenly straightened up, so did Alana as she took her place next to Hannibal. They both mouthed curse words as loud as possible to each other as Hannibal stared at his sister in shock.

“What do you mean? _Today_ is the test. Isn't it?”

“Oh, did you think one of my old tests would be easy for your little prince to complete? So did I.”

“What. Was. The. Test?” Hannibal pressed, each word containing a poison dart.

“Something very _simple_ , Hannibal, settle down. I simply got twenty downy mattresses and put a pea under the bottom one. A _real_ prince would be able to feel it, you know. He wouldn't be able to sleep.”

“And he fell asleep?”

“Well, I really don’t _know,_ brother dear. But he looked _exhausted_ yesterday, just as tired as you were.”

Hannibal’s glare was turned to full-on hatred when the door to the throne room opened, and Will came stumbling through it. He was still dressed in his clothes from the night before.

“Ah, Your Highness,” Bedelia smiled. Will just kept muttering to himself, it wasn’t clear what he was saying until he approached the throne.

“Thirty-seven thousand, four hundred and twenty two; thirty-seven thousand, four hundred and twenty three-”

“Thirty-seven thousand, four hundred and twenty-three what?” Bedelia asked. Will looked confused for a moment before he realized she was talking to him.

“Sheep!” he said a little too loudly, as though he was trying to wake up. He looked angry. “What - _what do you stuff your mattresses with?_ Knives? _Nails?_ Jesus Christ,” he groaned as he rolled his neck. Hannibal straightened up on his throne, eyes shining.

“What - what do you mean?” Bedelia asked, blood pressure suddenly going through the roof. Will yawned.

“You should- should take that bed, ‘nd put it down in the _torture chamber_ , Your Majesty.”

Bedelia stuttered, “You - you didn’t _sleep?!”_

“No, I never even closed my eyes,” Will practically whined, looking dead on his feet. Hannibal stood up with perhaps the widest smile Alana had ever seen from him.

“You passed!” he near exclaimed, getting up from the throne and rushing down to Will as the crowd in the court gasped. He pulled Will into a kiss, breaking it when Will started to lean back, falling asleep again before he woke himself up.

He yawned again, “Passed what?”

“The test. She put a pea under twenty mattresses, and _you felt it.”_

Will just stared at Hannibal, then over at Bedelia. “A pea? Under twenty mattresses? What the- you people are _sick,_ honestly, thinking I wouldn’t _feel-”_

“Will,” Hannibal breathed, gently moving Will’s hair out of his face. “This means we can get married.”

The crowd gasped again, and Alana excitedly waved over to Margot. She waved back. Will laughed softly as he shared a kiss before yawning again.

"Twenty- twenty mattresses," he muttered, even as he smiled at Hannibal. “Darling, of course I’ll marry you, I love you. But - but right now, I love the idea of sleep more. So let’s do that, shall we?”

Hannibal nodded eagerly, turning to Bedelia with a false smile, watching her seethe. “You’re welcome to stay for the wedding, sister dear. But afterwards, get packing. Enjoy your turnip fields and rats. There’s a wine cellar in the castle, though, there’s a perk.”

Bedelia took her crown off and angrily threw it at him. Hannibal just managed to dodge it as she stormed away. Will was falling asleep on his shoulder, and he smiled as he lifted him up.

“Hannibal, _oh my g-”_ he yawned again, and decided not to fight it. “-I’ll kick your ass for this later.”

Both were smiling as they left the room, too wrapped up in each other to care about the whisperings amongst the people of the court. Alana waited until they had left before cupping her hands together and shouting from her place by the thrones:

“Hey! We can ALL get married now!”

Everyone was sent into a rush of joy, cheering and embracing each other. Margot herself raced over Alana and pulled her into a kiss they couldn’t stop laughing into.

“You’ll get the inheritance now,” Alana smiled.

“Screw the inheritance," Margot grinned. "I’ll be a scullery maid if it comes to it, but will you marry me, Alana?”

Alana smiled again, picking up Margot and twirling around. “Sweetheart, I never thought you’d be able to ask me. Of course I will. After I’m forced to finish planning the wedding for the royal lovebirds.”

“Better late than never,” Margot sighed, kissing her again, wrapping her arms around her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommorrow: An inversion of the tale of Rumpelstilzen.


	13. Rumpelstiltzen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little inversion on the old tale. Will must spin straw to gold to keep his daughter Abigail safe from King Mason's clutches. But then he gets a little help.

Will Graham lived at the edge of the kingdom, in a little house with his daughter Abigail. They were very poor, but they made ends meet. Will sold the fish he caught in the market and there was usually a bit left over for meals. Abigail would check the traps for rabbits while her father fished and they would live off of her kills. Sometimes Abigail sighed as she leaned her head on Will’s shoulder.

“Papa?”

“Yes, my shining star?”

“I wish there was a way we didn’t have to scrape by. Then you could afford new boots and we could get a horse to ride into town.”

“That would be nice,” Will smiled, kissing her on the forehead. “Perhaps one day, Abigail. One day we will.”

They were happy together, and their house was always filled with love.

Until one day.

You see, the brutal King Mason of the Verger dynasty had come into power not long ago, and had hiked up the taxes to an unpayable degree. No matter how much Will made and then paid, it was never enough. He didn't know how far Mason would go until he shattered his teacup on the ground when he heard Abigail screaming at the top of her lungs outside the house. He dashed out to find the king’s henchmen, Cordell, struggling to keep hold of her as the king himself watched.

“Stop!” Will yelled, running out. “What are you doing? You can’t take my daughter away from me!”

“Oh well,” Mason sighed in fake pity. “You should have thought of that before you didn’t pay. She’ll stay in the palace prison until you pay. I’d hurry, the rats tend to eat the young ones first.”

Will snarled, lunging forward, only for another of the king’s guard to hold him back. “No, let go! You can’t do this!”

“I can, and I will. _Buuuut_ ….I know what you can do.”

“What?”

“I’ll leave your brat here only _if_ you come with us. You’ll work to pay off-”

“I’ll do it,” Will declared, wrenching his arm away from the guard. “Just - just let her go.”

Mason nodded to Cordell, who then let the girl go, causing her to run into her father’s arms and clutching him tightly in a hug. He squeezed back, tears dripping into her dark brown hair.

“Papa, p-p-please don’t-”

“No, Abigail, this is the only way. Now go to Beverly’s home, you’ll be safe there while I’m gone.”

“You’re coming back, aren’t you?” she whispered, her own tears staining his shirt. He kissed her once more on the forehead before squeezing her one last time.

“I promise, my shining star.” And then Cordell roughly grabbed him and pried them apart, dragging him back over to the king. Will gave Abigail one last sympathetic look before following the party back to the castle.

* * *

 

Will was thrown into prison cell, sputtering as he picked himself up off the floor and then looked around. The cell had a spinning wheel and a pile of straw in the corner. He turned back to look at the king.

“What is this?”

Mason grinned evilly. “You, my friend, need a miracle to get out of your debt. So here you go: spin all this straw into gold and your debt will be paid. If you fail, I’ll have you executed and make your daughter my ward.”

Smirking to himself, he left the cell, the door slamming shut.

Will walked over to the spinning wheel, taking a seat on the stool. He tried for an hour to spin the straw, only for it to fail each and every time.

He couldn’t do it, it was impossible. Mason had only set him up here so he could be cruel. He was all set to cry in the corner at the thought of never seeing Abigail ever again when he heard breathing behind him.

He turned around and saw a man standing there watching him. He was dressed in a cloak the color of blood, a contrast to the rest of him dressed in all black.

“Forgive me,” the man apologized, bowing slightly. Will awkwardly bowed in return. “I didn’t wish to frighten you.”

Will sighed, leaning against the wall and sliding down to the ground. “At this point, the devil himself wouldn’t frighten me. He’d be a welcome relief.”

“To what?”

“The king is demanding I spin this straw into gold, or else I will be executed and he will take my daughter.”

The man straightened up immediately at the mention of the king, but only nodded at Will. “I see. What is your name?”

“Will.”

“Well, Will, would you like me to help you?”

Will laughed outright, his head hitting the wall. “I don’t know how you could possibly help me… by the way, where did you come from?”

“Unimportant, Will. I will spin your straw into gold, if you give me something in return.”

“I - I have no riches.”

“Gifts given from the heart are worth more than all the riches in the world.”

Will thought for a moment, his hand absentmindedly reaching up to play with the simple locket that used to belong to his mother. He hesitated for just a moment, but his mind was filled with Abigail's sad, doe-eyed expression as he was led away. He promised her that he would return home.

So he undid the locket, and stood up to hand it to the man. The man reached out and accepted the locket, placing it into his pocket.

“Thank you, Will.”

“I should ask you for your name,” Will said to him. The man only smiled, then shook his head.

“Not yet.”

Will suddenly felt very tired, and curled up on the ground, letting his eyes close and sleep wrapping around him like a blanket.

* * *

 

Will awoke the next morning to loud footsteps and the cell door swinging open.

“Well, well, well,” Mason’s voice boomed around the small room. Will rubbed his eyes as he blinked awake and his jaw dropped. Every single stalk of straw had been spun into gold, all arranged in a neat pile by the spinning wheel. “You - you did it.”

“Yes,” Will declared, standing up to look the king right in the eyes. “And since I have done as you asked, I wish to go home to my daughter.”

Mason’s eyes were shining with greed as he inspected the gold, taking handfuls and digging around in it. “Oh no, Will. This isn’t enough to pay off your debt. I want you to spin more.”

Will tried to protest, kicked and screamed, but had been placed in a new and larger cell, with much more straw than before. He was given the same task as before: spin all the straw to gold, or die and lose his daughter.

The man from before wasn’t there, and Will didn’t have a prayer without him. And so he simply paced the length of the cell for seemingly hours before he felt eyes boring into him from behind.

“Hello,” Will said with a slight smile as he turned around to see the man from before, his cloak swirling around his ankles like he had just arrived. He smiled back.

“Hello, Will.”

Will kicked at the ground, then sighed. “I - I need your help again.”

“I know. That is why I have come once again. What do you have for me this time?”

Will pondered this matter carefully. He had nothing at all on his person besides his thin clothes, and those would never do. He had nothing in his home, either, only materials for fish ties.

_His home…_

“I will give you my home,” Will said quietly, looking at the ground. “You may have it.”

“But where will you go when Mason releases you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Will replied, looking up into the man’s maroon-tinged eyes. “As long as I have my daughter.”

The man paused, then nodded. “I accept your gift, Will.”

Will suddenly felt his eyes get heavy again, and voiced his protest as the man lowered him to the ground so he didn’t hurt himself. “No, wait, I - I can’t fall asleep again, what - what is your name?”

The man’s warm smile was the last thing Will saw before he fell asleep. “Oh, my dear Will. Not yet.”

* * *

 

This time, after Will awoke to Mason bursting into his cell and practically giggling with glee at the even larger pile of gold, he was led outside to an abandoned barn. When the doors were opened, the ceiling was piled high with straw, a spinning wheel set in the middle of it all.

“I wanted to give you plenty of time to spin all of this, Will. You have until tomorrow morning,” Mason grinned, rubbing his hands together. Will only glared at him, not moving from his position.

“No,” he said simply. Mason’s whole demeanor changed in a second.

“What do you mean, _no?”_

“I have done all that you ask, I have paid off my debts. I deserve to be let go.”

Mason sighed, but it was fake. He had a card up his sleeve, Will could tell. “I suppose I could let you go, Will, but you would beg me to take you back. It was very _cute_ to think that you could hide your daughter from me, I found her again.”

Will’s anger rose up in his throat and he lunged towards Mason, ready to wipe that hideous smirk off of his face, but Cordell held him back. “You fucking bastard-”

“Don’t talk to your _king_ like that, Will.”

_“Where is my daugher?”_

“Now, don’t fret, I haven't hurt her. Not yet, at least. But I can’t say that she’s very comfortable in her cell. She is an _unhappy_ little caged bird, had to chain her so she wouldn’t try to fly away.”

Will thought back to the cell he was kept in, the rats scuttling over your body as you sat on the ground, the cold stone walls and floor, bread with green spots of mold dotting it with barely a cup of water to wash it down. He spat at Mason, satisfied that it landed on his silk shirt. He only sneered back.

“You want your daughter to stay alive, Will? Keep spinning.”

Cordell slammed him onto the ground, and Will finally felt broken. Not from the pain he felt lying there, feeling the blood seep from his nose, no, for Abigail being taken from him, after all that he promised her.

Mason laughed as he shut the door to the barn. Will stayed exactly where he was, unable to move, unwilling to move. It hurt too much to move, to get up and face his failure.

Then a warm hand was on his neck, comforting and soft. “Will.”

The hand was joined by another, slowing turning around so that Will was lying flat on his back now. The man who had helped him twice before was above him, concern etched across his features. He removed a silky black cloth and held it to Will’s nose while supporting his neck keeping it there until the bleeding stopped.

“Don’t bother,” Will croaked, trying in vain to resist, but the man was having none of it. He continued to support Will’s broken frame.

“Dear Will,” he soothed. “What troubles you?”

“All of this straw must be spun into gold by morning,”

The man nodded. “I understand. But you know that I must have something in return.”

Will stared down at the bloody cloth, thinking over what he could possibly give the man. He had nothing, he had even failed to keep his daughter safe from Mason’s twisted views of the world. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could give.

_Unless…_

“I give you-” Will said, his voice cracking in the middle of his declaration. “-I give you my daughter.”

The man’s face changed then, showing the rawest emotion Will had ever seen on his face. “Oh, Will. Even _I_ cannot accept such a treasure as your daughter.”

“Please,” Will begged. “I would offer myself to you, but - but then Mason would still have her, still be able to hurt her. I do not know you, but - but I trust you. Please, take her. Take her away from this wretched place, I could not do anything better for her. Please.”

The man was almost too still as he heard Will’s pleas. Then the mask of control that was always evident the other times they had met cracked completely.

“Will, I-I-”

Unable to help himself, and unsure of why exactly he was doing this, Will pressed a gentle kiss to the man’s lips. “There,” he said, shakily, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Is the deal now sealed?”

The man still said nothing, just stared at Will with open wonderment, touching his lips with his hand, unable to believe what had just occurred.

 _“Oh, Will,”_ he finally said, leaning closer and granting Will a searing kiss, breaking away breathlessly. “Do you realize what you’ve _done,_ love? I belong to _you,_ now. Such a gift, such a _treasure,_ your daughter and your trust. Now, you will receive another gift.” He paused for another brief moment, taking a deep breath.

Will tentatively touched the man on the shoulder, marveling at how the man sighed in bliss at such a simple touch. “It’s alright, I don’t need-”

“My name is Hannibal,” the man said all in one breath. Will smiled.

 _“Hannibal,_ I like it. Why couldn’t you tell me that before?”

“It is a long story, my dear Will. You see, I am a sorcerer, I know the deepest wells of magic in this world and the next. But before I came into full power, Mason-” he stopped, anger welling up in his eyes before he took a breath to calm down. “-Mason took my young sister, Mischa away from me. And he had the smart notion of having a spell cast that protected him from me. I could only stop him when someone granted me their ultimate treasure.”

Will was too awestruck to speak. “I-”

“When you need me, Will, and you will know when,” Hannibal said. “All you must do is say my name, love.”

Sleep started pulling at Will’s eyelids again and he groaned, “Nooooo, why do you keep putting me to sleep?”

“A magician never reveals their secrets,” Hannibal smiled. “Not yet, at least.”

* * *

 

“It’s very interesting,” Mason said, uncaringly as he lounged on his throne the way a cat would. Will rolled his eyes from where he was forced to kneel before him. “You have never been shown to have magical prowess in the past.”

Will shrugged. Mason cackled.

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Will. I know you’ve been getting help from someone. And I want to know who they are.”

“What makes you think I would tell you?”

“The fact that I will bring your daughter up and execute her in front of you,” Mason smirked. Will started drugging against Mason. “No, keep fighting, it’s entertaining.”

“Fine,” Will spat, looking up at Mason with burning hatred. “You - you want to know?”

“Yes, tell me.”

Will took a deep breath, staring right back into the king’s eyes. _“Hannibal.”_

Mason’s eyes widened in reflexive horror as the doors to the throne room were flung open, and the man in question came walking determinedly towards the king.

“Seize him!” Mason screamed, his face turning purple in terror. His guards lunged towards Hannibal with their weapons, only for the king to watch as they all turned their weapons onto themselves and ending their own lives. Cordell even dropped Will to fight, but Hannibal snapped his fingers and his neck snapped like a twig.

Hannibal offered a hand for Will to help him up, and he accepted, smiling at each other before turning back toward a horrified Mason. Hannibal was about to snap his fingers when Will stopped him.

“No, no, no. Go slow, we should savor it.”

Hannibal’s eyes lit up into delight, offering Will a knife from his belt. “Together, then. I have always thought Princess Margot would be a better ruler.”

* * *

 

After Mason had been killed, his remains scattered in the woods, Hannibal took Will in his arms again.

“Do - do you still trust me, Will?” he asked, just hesitant enough that Will couldn’t resist him.

“Of course,” Will replied. “Why do you-”

Hannibal then kissed him hard, clutching Will even closer to him. As Will threaded his fingers through his sandy-grey hair, it felt as though the wind was howling around them, as though the world itself was spinning around.

When they broke apart, Will was stunned to see that they were standing before a grand house. Not a palace, but a fine, large house surrounded by the forest trees around it. And then the door to the front of the house was flung open.

“Papa!” Abigail squealed running towards him, her arms outstretched. Will blinked away tears as he knelt down and held his daughter tightly in his arms, stroking her hair back.

 _“My shining star_ , are you alright?”

She nodded into his neck. “Oh yes, Papa. This wonderful man, the one who brought you here, he saved me. He took me out of that cell and brought me to this place. It’s wonderful, Papa, there is a horse I can ride to town on, so many pairs of boots, and a pack of the friendliest wolves I have ever seen!”

Hannibal smiled down at the pair below him, they tugged at his heartstrings the way no one had since Mischa had died. “Thank you, my dear.”

Abigail broke away from Will, and hugged Hannibal around his legs. “Thank you for saving us.”

Hannibal almost cried, and it was harder to hold it back when Will rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Would you - would you both stay?” he finally asked. “There is so much room here, I would be honored if you stayed.”

“Of course we will!” Abigail answered before Will could open his mouth. “We have to, Papa, he saved us and he _loves_ you, he told me so.”

If Will wasn’t charmed by Hannibal already, his slight blush would have done him in on the spot. He pretended to think for a moment.

“Well...I think we can,” he smiled. Abigail clapped her hands together in joy.

“Perfect! Excuse me, I need to go feed the horse now, he deserves a carrot.” And off she dashed. Will turned to Hannibal and smiled. Hannibal sighed a little.

“I do wish I could have told you first.”

“I think I already knew,” Will whispered, kissing him again. “I love you, too.”

Hannibal smiled into the kiss, offering his arm after they broke apart. “Shall we go in? I’ll prepare dinner.”

Will took his arm and they both stepped into the house, into their new life together.

 

_And they all lived happily ever after._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave all the comments and kudos you like! Find me on Tumblr at somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds
> 
> Tomorrow: fun game for the comment section - guess which Disney movie I will base tomorrow's fic on. A little hint: the most memorable first meeting in Disney history.


	14. My Favorite Love Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 101 Dalmatians-inspired fic: Winston decides his pet needs someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is based on 101 Dalmatians! Is it my favorite love story? Well, it's my favorite Disney flick, and Roger and Anita are #goals.
> 
> My actual favorite love story is Gomez and Mortica Addams but *coughs* I already have a series for THAT Hannigram AU! Please read those if you're interested in some morbid fluff. I actually have at least two more fics planned for that series, so stay tuned!
> 
> But 101 Dalmatians? That scene where Roger and Anita first meet? That's love at first sight right there. #Iconic. So please enjoy!

Winston could tell that his pet, Will, was lonely. The dog watched his human sit around about the house, making fish lures to sell in his shop. A bachelor’s life was not glamorous and full of freedom, it was dreary and dull. Will may be content in living alone for the rest of his days, but Winston was not. His old pet needed _someone._ And it appeared that it would be up to him to _find_ that special someone for Will. _Preferably_ someone with a lovely dog as well.

***

Vitalija could tell that her pet, Hannibal, was lonely, even if he would never admit it to another soul. Sure, there were parties upon parties, dinners, that sort of thing, but Hannibal was lacking some _one_ in his life. Someone to spend the days with, to understand his thoughts and constant harpsichord playing. He never let anyone see him for who he truly was, and Vitalija knew it troubled him deeply. But if Hannibal wasn't going to find someone, she would find one for him _herself._

_***_

Winston sat at the window in the front of their little house, watching the dogs and their pets stroll by on the street. Well, it would seem that dogs aren’t really the best judge of what their humans find attractive in their mates, but he could certainly try. He carefully examined every human as they walked past.

A young girl with a poodle. _Too young._

A group of three, walking Yorkies and laughing. _All taken, it would seem._

A particularly snobby-looking man with a yappy little Chihuahua barking at everything in sight. _No, far too annoying._

A redheaded woman with a proud collie, practically strutting down the street. _No, not them, they weren’t good enough for Will._ Winston sighed, and rested his head on the windowsill. It was a problem, a real problem.

When suddenly, a _beautiful_ Lithuanian Hound came into view. That was more like it! The most beautiful dog Winston had ever seen. _Perfect,_ he thought, _she’s lovely._ He took a quick look at her pet, please let them be suitable... and _well then,_ he was handsome, too! Just Will’s type, Winston just _knew_ he would be. He would be a _perfect_ mate for Will. Well, that settles it right then and there, they were meant to be. He watched as they headed into the park. Splendid, a perfect meeting place.

He grabbed his leash in his mouth and whined pitifully at Will, knowing if he pleaded enough he’d get to go.

“Winston,” Will said fondly, scratching behind his ears and setting down his fishing lure. “You need to go on your walk?”

He whined again, stomping his paw on the ground. Will laughed, then stood and stretched. “Alright, boy, let me get my shoes on.”

Winston dragged him out as soon as Will opened the door. He raced them to the park, looking frantically for the couple, weaving in and out of the others out walking the same park trail.

“What's your hurry, boy?” Will asked, struggling to hold onto his leash. Winston payed him no mind, and Will nearly tripped over his dog when he stopped dead in his tracks.

 _There they were._ The beautiful dog sitting in perfect posture by her pet’s side as he drew in his sketchbook while sitting on a park bench. Winston straightened up, then walked with purpose, looking over at the beautiful dog. She snuck a small smile his way before looking forward again.

Winston could tell that Will had looked over at the man, and the man looked up from his sketchbook to watch as they passed by, then continued drawing.

Contact had been made. Excellent. But Will made no further opportunity to talk to the man, he was content to sit by the stream and watch the fish swim, occasionally reading the book he brought with him. That wasn’t good enough for Winston. After sitting beside him for a full five minutes, he jumped up and knocked Will’s reading glasses off.

“Winston!” he scolded, as the dog took his glasses in his mouth and ran over to the bench, setting the glasses down beside the man.

The man looked down at the glasses, at Winston, then looked over at Will again. Will blushed red before standing up and taking the glasses back, shrugging an apology. The man nodded back.

Vitalija had to have another glance at the dog and his scruffy pet. She could tell that they had piqued Hannibal’s interest, but he had too much pride to go over and talk to him himself. No, Hannibal liked to have others come and approach him. That would change today.

She whined, setting her head in his lap as though she wanted a scratch. Hannibal smiled and put down his pen long enough for a scratch behind her ear. She swiped up the pen.

“Vitalija!” he reprimanded. He was surprised, she usually didn’t even wander from his side in the park. He reached for the pen, but she darted off over to the other man’s dog, dropping the pen before him. Winston barked happily and wagged his tail, and they sniffed each other. Will looked over from his book and picked up the pen, standing up and nearly bumping into Hannibal. Both men just nodded at each other, some strange human greeting, the dogs supposed. Will handed him the pen back. Hannibal accepted it, then whistled. Vitalija came over, and Hannibal hooked her leash on. “Alright, sweetheart, time to go home.”

“Winston,” Will said, clipping the leash to his own dog, turning them away. “Time to go, boy.”

 _No!_ both dogs thought, they might never have this opportunity again! As Hannibal walked away from Will, Vitalija suddenly twisted around, rushing back towards Winston, dashing between Will’s legs as Winston wrapped his leash around both dog owners.

“No!” Will scolded, suddenly so very, very close to this man. “Winston, no! _Oh my-”_

“Vitalija, stop it!” Hannibal ordered as his usually well-behaved and perfect dog twisted her leash tighter, pressing him almost uncomfortably close to the other man. His balance was being severely tested at this point.

Will was turning red, and he was stuttering, “I’m _so_ sorry, he's not usually like this- I - I -”

“It’s - it’s alright,” Hannibal attempted to reassure him, while trying to untangle both of them from each other but their dogs were not cooperating. It didn’t help that he felt oddly flustered, for the first time in a long time, pressed up against this stranger.

He was so distracted he didn’t realize that both of them were teetering off balance until he felt the rush of cold water ruining his suit when they fell into the stream. He coughed, more out of shock than pain or water inhalation, turning to his unfortunate companion, who was sputtering and completely drenched as well. _Why was he so charmed by the wet curls stuck to his forehead?_ However, his current concern was Vitalija sitting like the cat that ate the canary on the riverbank with the stranger's dog, and stream sludge in his shoes.

He stood up as the other man did as well, and found himself attempting to move the wilted plant leaves and stream trash off of the man’s jacket, until the man pushed his hands away. “No, please, I - I - haven’t we already ruined each other’s afternoon _enough?”_ he sighed desperately, moving away and reaching into his pocket, only to pull out a soaked cloth that would be useless to dab at the water on his face.

“Oh, please,” Hannibal interrupted, reaching into his own pocket to hand the man his handkerchief, neatly folded into a pocket square. “Take mine-” he stopped short when he realized that it, too, was soaked beyond use.

The man stared at him incredulously, at both of their damp cloths, and started to laugh, laugh at the entirely ridiculous situation. Hannibal felt himself smile of his own accord, not a fake one for once. And he began to laugh as well, not a polite, quiet chuckle, but a laugh. They laughed as they squeezed out their clothes and attempted to look somewhat presentable covered in water.

The dogs wagged their tails as their pets came out of the water, still laughing at one another. Finally, Will waved his arm in an attempt to stop snickering.

“What a pair we are,” he said, causing both of them to snort. “I - I’m sorry about your sketchbook, I think it’s beyond saving.”

Hannibal waved his hand away, laughing. “Oh, not a problem. The fountain will still be there tomorrow. What - what is your name?”

“My name’s Will. Will Graham. Yours?”

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” he replied, and they shook hands. The dogs were overjoyed as their pets cleaned each other off and started talking and exchanging cards.

“Would you like to join me for dinner tonight?” Hannibal asked, daring to finally touch those curls. Will smiled, and nodded.

“Let me clean up first,” he joked, causing Hannibal to laugh again. “But of course.”

Winston and Vitalija whined, causing their pets to look down, as if they remembered the whole reason they were speaking were sitting at their feet.

“Do you mind if Winston comes along?”

“Not at all,” Hannibal replied. “He appears to get along quite well with my Vitalija.”

“She _is_ a beautiful dog, a purebred?”

“Pue Lithuanian Hound.”

“Oh,” Will said, then looked down at Winston, rubbing his dog’s back. “Winston is- well, he’s yellow, and I love him.”

“And it shows,” Hannibal smiled. “My home, at six?”

“It’s a date.”

***

 

Hannibal hadn’t been in such a good mood in years, Vitalija thought. He put extra care into dinner, humming as he did so and practically lit up when Will and Winston arrived. If she didn't know him better, he would have been blushing like a child with a crush.

“So, uh,” Will said, looking at his feet and not at the _super_ fancy house that he was _not_ dressed for. He had dressed well enough for a date, combed his hair but still, this place was catalogue levels of clean. “I...brought a bottle of wine. But I- well, I don’t know much about wine, so I hope it’s good.”

Hannibal smiled and accepted it. “It is a fine brand, thank you. What do you usually drink, in that case?”

“Whiskey, in in all honesty.”

“I happen to have a bottle on the counter, care for a glass?”

Will smiled and nodded, accepting the glass of really, _really_ good whiskey. He noticed separate meal preparation on the stove. “What's that for?”

“For Vitalija, and a portion for Winston.”

“Really? That's great, I make his food myself, as well.”

They had a delicious dinner, and Will had to have seconds because the food was wonderful and he couldn’t seem to shut up in their conversation. They talked during dinner and well afterwards, with the bottle of whiskey being poured until Hannibal stopped thinking for once and just _felt._

And he _felt_ like leaning in and kissing Will, and so he did. He almost pulled away as soon as he realized what he was doing, but then Will’s hand was on the back of his neck and he was kissing him back. He felt himself being guided until he was laying back on the couch, Will on top of him.

“This is nice,” Will sighed into the kiss. “Been a while.”

Hannibal hummed his agreement, kissing him back. “Mmmm, I’d agree.”

“Rich doctor in this house, single? Hard to believe.”

“A beautiful man like you all alone is also hard to believe.”

Will chuckled softly at that, Hannibal was so close he could practically _taste_ it. “Sorry about this afternoon, again.”

“Please don’t be, Will. We wouldn’t be in this position right now if you hadn’t absolutely ruined my suit. The shoes may or may not be salvageable.”

 _“I_ ruined your suit? _Au contraire,_ doctor, I think the blame is on _you,”_ Will smiled before kissing him again. Hannibal chose not to protest, instead tangling his hand in Will’s hair and wrapping his other arm around tightly around him.

Vitalija wagged her tail at the sight and left the room, Winston following. She led them out to her dog bed in her very own room in the house, where they curled up to sleep.

Their pets needed their space.

***

Both dogs woke up the next morning feeling very hungry. Winston followed Vitalija to the kitchen, but she paused in the doorway, confused. Hannibal was _always_ up early for breakfast, but he wasn’t there. The dogs chased each other up the stairs, pushing the master bedroom door open all the way and jumping onto the bed.

Vitalija padded her way over to her pet, nudging his face with her cold nose. He groaned, pushing her away on instinct, before blinking awake.

“Spoiled little thing,” he smiled, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t trapped under Will’s still sleeping body to scratch behind her ear. “Just a few more minutes, I promise.”

She only whined, licking his cheek. Beside them, Winston licked Will’s face and pawed at his chest. He swatted in his direction, slowly stirring awake.

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” he murmured, turning around and pressing his face against Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal felt his breath still for a moment, as if he was remembering where he was, then felt him smile.

“Good morning.”

“Yes, it is. Sweet dreams?”

“The best one I’ve ever had.”

“Do tell.”

“Well, this incredibly handsome rich guy for some reason invited me over for dinner, plied me with expensive whiskey, kissed me on his couch, and then we ended up in his king-sized bed with fancy sheets.”

“Interesting. I dreamed that a handsome man almost drowned me in a stream, but I was so charmed by him I invited him back home."

Will nuzzled against his chest and laughed. “Asshole. As if your dog wasn’t the one who tripped you so you nearly landed on me.”

“Perish the thought,” Hannibal smiled, kissing the top of Will’s head, moving his trapped hand to play with Will’s messy curls before bending down to kiss his lips. Will turned fully into the kiss, but before it started getting heated, the dogs jumped back onto the bed, being nosy and whining. Hannibal pressed his forehead against Will’s and they both laughed.

“They’re hungry.”

“Are you?”

“For what, exactly, doctor?”

“I’ll start with a hot breakfast and coffee, and then perhaps we can continue this afterwards.”

“Sounds good, Hannibal. I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

 

**_***One year later***_ **

 

“Now, don’t be _modest,_ Will, let’s see the ring,” Mrs. Komeda insisted. Will smiled as he extended his hand for her inspection. There were two little black diamonds surrounding the three carat white diamond in the middle of the band. The wedding band itself was a sleek ebony black. She smiled as Hannibal came up behind Will, surprising him with a kiss to the cheek before handing him a glass of whiskey.

“Expensive, Hannibal,” she commented, “but still effortlessly classy. How _do_ you do it?”

“I’m married to my inspiration,” he remarked, causing Will to snort into his own glass. “I’m constantly reminded of the beauty in the world.”

“Yes, he is constantly like this,” Will teased, punching Hannibal lightly in the arm, causing his husband to smile. Mrs. Komeda awed at the two of them, before gesturing around at the party being held in the backyard of Hannibal’s home.

“A _lovely_ party as always, Hannibal. Though I _am_ miffed you didn’t invite me to the wedding itself.”

Hannibal only raised his eyebrows and sipped his own glass of wine. “Oh, it was a private affair, you know.”

“Still, I’m sure it was just _divine._ I _do_ wish I could have seen it,” she sighed, then catching sight of Will’s dog retrieving a treat of roast beef from one of the guests, and then taking off with it to go back into the house. “What’s he up to, Will?”

Will and Hannibal both smiled brightly, and exchanged a look before Will said proudly, “Our dogs are having puppies.”

She openly gasped, clapping her hands together, “Oh, how _wonderful!_ Would you be interested in giving-”

“No,” Hannibal said, a little firmly. “We’re not selling or giving away the puppies away.”

Mrs. Komeda seemed a little put off by that, and chose to become more interested in the nearby tray of meatballs. Hannibal raised his glass and Will clanged his against his, both taking a sip before Will smirked at him.“Rather forward, Hannibal.”

“They're _our_ puppies, love, and you know I _hate_ sharing.”

“Speaking of _sharing,_ darling, how long is this party?”

“Hopefully over in two hours.”

“Good,” Will winked, leaning in and kissing him on the lips briefly. He turned back to speak with another guest, and Hannibal couldn’t fight his smile.

***

Winston scurried back into the house, down the hall, and into their room to where Vitalija was napping. He nudged her awake with his nose, then offered her the roast beef. She happily snacked on it with him, and after their meal, he curled up beside her.

The puppies would be here soon, and they were thrilled. But as soon as the puppies were here, and they had adjusted to being parents, they had another plan for their pets.

Perhaps _they_ should have a puppy of _their_ own. He and Vitalija would have to push them towards the idea.

They weren’t always the brightest, their pets. Sometimes they needed a push in the right direction. 

Humans were like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I had to Google "Lithuanian girl names" and Vitalija translates to "life".
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! Come say hi on Tumblr at somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds!
> 
> Tomorrow: symbolic reflections on the Hannigram relationship, using elaborate fairy-tale metaphor.


	15. East of the Sun & West of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has reflections on his relationship with Will in their cliffside home while they recover from their injuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Technically, this story is supposed to based on East of the Sun & West of the Moon, but it shares a lot of similarities with the Cupid and Psyche tale, so that's the main inspiration of the piece. Today's story is a little shorter, I wanted to do a little character study for our favorite Murder Husbands. Also, I had bigger ideas for stories down the line and those will be a lot longer, so enjoy this little drabble!

It had all happened so _softly,_ Hannibal thought to himself as he relaxed in his armchair in their cliffside home.

The first time he had ever met Will, how _quickly_ he lost himself. He was so sheltered then, back in what seemed like lifetimes ago. The glasses fogging his perception of the world, a barrier to keep him separate.

_Tasteless._

That was what he said about the crime. Not a comment on how it was disturbing, twisted, vile, no. _Tasteless._

Hannibal remembered dreaming in that fleeting moment what he would find tasteful, beautiful.

_“It’s beautiful,” Will rasped, clutching Hannibal’s shirt, his eyes hazy with residual bloodlust and - and **love.**  _ _This must have been how Saint Stephen felt, staring at Heaven and damning any earthly punishments just to continue staring at divine beauty._

“You’re thinking again,” Will said as he came into their living room, a cup of coffee in hand, a book in the other. He took the the seat across from Hannibal and smiled fondly. Hannibal smiled back, lifting his head up from where he was resting it on his hand.

“Is there a problem with that, Will?”

“Not at all, except every time you think too much, one of us ends up injured,” Will remarked, his smile accenting the long scar down the side of his face. Hannibal had once commentated that it complimented his cheekbones nicely, Will had blushed.

Hannibal leaned forward, taking a cookie from the plate on the coffee table, only for Will to swat his hand away.

“Hey, I haven't had any yet, you’ve had five.”

Hannibal swatted his hand right back. _“I_ made them, did I not?”

“For _me,”_ Will teased, taking an extra cookie, “Therefore, I deserve more.”

“You’re getting spoiled.”

Will laughed, crumbs falling onto the open book spread out on his lap. _Oh to be that book._ “After all the shit we’ve put each other through, I think we can both eat all the cookies we like.”

Hannibal smiled then, taking another cookie as a definitive move, and Will shook his head in amusement, turning his eyes back to the book. _Bulfinch's Mythology._

“Any particular reason you chose that book, Will?”

“Well, I’ll be spending the rest of my life with you-” Hannibal’s heart seized up in his chest and he nearly choked on the cookie “-so I figure I better brush up on all the mythology to understand your references in everyday conversation.” Will grinned in that wicked way, leaning back in the chair, resting his feet on the table and going back to reading. Hannibal simply sat back in his own chair, watching Will mouth the words to himself as he read for what felt like hours until he looked back up.

Will laughed again. “Alright, tell me what you’re thinking of. What does the image of me sitting here with crumbs all over your expensive furniture while reading remind you of?”

He had to make fun of Hannibal when he was like this, otherwise he might tear up. Hannibal just chuckled softly. “Cupid and Psyche.”

“Ah,” Will said as he nodded. “I do know that one. I thought you were going real obscure there for a moment. Of course. And that’s a clever pun, ‘psyche,’ considering you’ve always been captivated by it.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said softly. He paused for a while. “When Jack stated that you could think better and were more clever than any killer he’d ever come across, I was slightly offended.”

“Of course you were.”

“I had ever intention to tear you apart, metaphorically.”

“Not literally?” Will asked, quirking an eyebrow. Hannibal laughed to himself.

“No, I did not know you yet. I only knew of you as someone who was presumptuous enough to think that they could see me. But then I saw you.”

“Scratched yourself with your own arrow?” Will smirked. “Fell in love on the spot?”

Hannibal had the most lovesick grin on his face, Will though it was hilariously charming. “Yes. How could I not? You saw beauty underneath all the darkness. A shame it took you so long to be comfortable with it.”

Will nodded, looking almost wistful. Hannibal’s smile faded. “Will?”

“Psyche was punished for daring to see her husband’s true form,” he said softly. “You punished me for seemingly turning away from yours.”

Memories of Will gasping for breath as he clutched the knife wound as he lay on the kitchen floor flashed through Hannibal’s mind, he blinked them away.

“I thought of leaving the knife there,” he murmured. “I thought of leaving it buried deep inside, breaking off into you so a part of me would always be there.”

“It didn’t hurt very much until you pulled out the knife and pushed me away,” Will murmured back, always modest about pain. “It didn’t hurt until you left.”

Hannibal’s face faltered slightly. Even that small change in demeanor spoke volumes, it was raw. Will leaned forward and rested his hand on Hannibal’s knee.

“I forgive you,” he said simply. Hannibal took a deep breath before looking into Will’s eyes, a broken smile on his face.

“Every time I hear that, it feels like my very soul is cleansed. True forgiveness is as rare as true love.”

“They’re linked,” Will smiled, finally getting up and standing before Hannibal. “Just like we are.” And then he pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s lips. He smiled into his as he felt his arms wrap around him, pulling him closer until he was sitting in his lap. Hannibal pressed his forehead against Will’s after the kiss, and he smiled.

“I love you.”

“And my psyche?”

“I fell in love with you first,” he sighed, kissing him again. Will caught the hand that wasn’t around Will’s waist reaching for the cookie plate. He playfully hit him in the chest.

“Sneaky bastard,” he smirked. “Unable to decide if you want me or cookies more?”

“After all the shit we’ve been through,” Hannibal replied, causing Will to snort. “I deserve both.”

“Is your next request for me to read this book to you?”

“It would be nice.”

“Make me dinner first,” Will smirked, kissing him again. Hannibal’s heart was singing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave comments, I respond to all of them and they mean so much!
> 
> Tomorrow: Hannibal is a bitch who would sacrifice anyone to a monster in order to keep Will to himself. (Don't want to spoil the main plot of the story :))


	16. The Lindworm Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a hideous lindworm that demands to be married before his younger brother, Hannibal. Hannibal just wants the Baron Will, and he'll sacrifice anyone to keep him by his side. Even the kindest woman in the kingdom, Reba.
> 
> Now if only he knew what Reba was capable of...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia fact: a "lindworm" is a wingless, bipedal dragon. Hint hint.

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away, there were a king and queen who had loved each other deeply, but they had no children to show for it. They had tried for years and years, but to no avail and to much grief. Out of desperation, the queen went to see the old witch who lived deep in the woods in a little wooden cabin.

“Don’t cry, Your Highness,” the witch comforted, rubbing her wrinkled hand on the queen’s back. She handed her two perfect roses, one white and one red. “Eat one, and you shall have a child. But I tell you, only eat one rose, for a terrible fate will befall you all if you consume both.”

The queen thanked the witch, and went back to the kingdom, and chose to eat the white rose. But it tasted so sweet and delicious that she had to eat the blood-red rose as well.

And soon, the queen did indeed have a child, twins, to be exact. The second child was a beautiful baby boy, and was the source of much joy to the kingdom. However, the first was a hideous lindworm, screaming pitifully and wiggling around. The king and queen were horrified, and so kept the lindworm locked up in a secret part of the castle for the rest of his life. Only the royal family and the servants knew of his existence.

The years rolled by, and the second prince, Hannibal, grew into a fine young man, and the king and queen were thrilled, as they had betrothed him to the princess Alana. There were weeks spent on the preparations for the wedding, and on the day the whole kingdom turned out for the special day.

But then the lindworm escaped from his prison and loudly interrupted the ceremony, declaring in a growling, screechy voice, _“No. A bride for me before a bride for you.”_

The princess screamed in horror, and ran away back to her own kingdom. Now, the prince wasn’t very sad that she had left, for he had always loved another. But he did not like to be made a fool of. He was perfectly content to never marry and continue to be with his love, the Baron Will Graham, in secret. For you see, they had been in love for many years, but there was a problem: the king and queen were not approving of the baron in any way. He and his sister, the Baroness Margot, were always blamed for the death of the patriarch Mason, and some said that as soon as Will inherited the estate, the loyal servants to Mason vanished without a trace. And Will and Margot were always spotted at fancy balls, always dressed in either black or deep red.

Not that Hannibal was ever exactly an angel, but Will was a... _bad influence._ He reveled in darkness, and Hannibal enjoyed dwelling there as well. It was evident to the entire court that they were having an affair, but everyone pretended they were simply friends.

But that detracts from the story we are telling. So anyway, every time the king and queen tried to bring a princess in for the lindworm to marry, the lindworm ate them. After this happened three times, they began to get desperate. So they held a lottery in their kingdom to randomly choose a poor soul to send to their death. They selected the Baroness Margot to be the bride, and she was filled with grief.

Horrified that his sister would be fed to the monster, Will approached the prince. His face brightened when he came close, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “What troubles you, love?” he asked. Will bit his lip, the picture of fake innocence.

“Hannibal, you cannot allow Margot to be sent to the lindworm. I can't lose my sister to that beast.”

“Will-”

Will always knew what to do to get his own way with Hannibal, and so pouted,“If I lose her, I - I’ll never forgive you.”

And Prince Hannibal would never allow that to happen, and so went straight away to his parents. He declared that Margot should be spared, and that he himself would find a suitable bride for the lindworm. So off he went, traveling the whole kingdom in search of the perfect girl.

He found her, in a small house on the very edges of the town closest to the castle. She was beautiful, as though she were an angel carved from black marble. She was gentle, she was kind.

And she was blind.

“What is your name?” Hannibal asked. She smiled then, mystery hidden in her soft features.

“Reba, Your Highness.”

Now, Reba was no fool. She knew exactly why the prince had come here, her grandmother had told her so.

“ _Reba,” the old witch said, stroking her hair back as Reba sipped her grandmother’s homemade brew, “My child, do you not wish for your eyesight to be healed?”_

_“I don’t like pity, Grandmother. I have lived all these years without my sight, I am more than capable.” She felt her grandmother smile as she kissed her forehead._

_“Always the wisest girl in the kingdom. You’ll be happy to know that I had sown the seeds for your glory when you were but a twinkle in your mother’s eye.”_

_“Why, what do you mean?”_

_Her grandmother took her hand and squeezed it. “I will make you a princess, my dear. You will marry the oldest prince one day, and be the fairest woman in the entire kingdom. Now, let me give you your instructions for when the time comes.”_

So Reba only smiled in the direction of Prince Hannibal’s smooth, dulcet tones, that would lure any unsuspecting person in. If she didn’t know exactly who the _“older brother”_ was, she could easily see herself swindled by his charming words. And she made sure to sound extra flattered, oh but she would be _honored_ to be the bride. Yes, she would leave _right now._

When they arrived back at the castle, she remembered her grandmother’s instructions when they asked her if she needed anything. She requested ten white shifts and a large tub of milk and another of lye to to be placed in the bedroom for the wedding night.

The very next day, she dressed herself, including putting on all ten shifts under her wedding dress before the wedding. After the ceremony, she found herself being led upstairs into the room where the lindworm lived. She felt about the room, smiling when she felt the the tubs of lye and milk.

 _“Fair maiden,”_ the lindworm bellowed from his corner, _“Shed a shift.”_

Reba answered back, “Lindworm, shed a skin!”

She heard the sputtering and hissing coming from said lindworm. _“No one has ever asked that of me. No one has ever asked anything of me.”_

“But I have. Do as I say and I say do the same for you.”

There was groaning and shuddering, and then the sound of a thick skin going thump on the ground. The lindworm then said again, _“Fair maiden, shed a shift.”_

“Lindworm, shed a skin,” she replied. Again, the lindworm groaned and shuddered and there was a thump on the ground as the next skin fell off. She removed her shift.

This went on and on, until she was down to one shift and she heard weak mewls and sighs from the lindworm, and she knew what that meant. Her grandmother said that the lindworm would be a shapeless mass at this point, and when she stepped forward and put her arms out, she turned out to be correct. The mass squirmed in her grasp, but she held him tightly, dumping him in the tub of lye beside her left, holding there as she counted to fifty. Then she managed to drag him into the tub milk on her right, and held him there as she counted to fifty once again. At last, the lindworm was too tired to struggle any further, and Reba just managed to drag it other ot the bed, where she held him close to her chest and fell fast asleep.

Afraid of what would be left of the lady Reba in the morning, the king and the queen elected to visit in the late morning of the next day. They listened against the keyhole, they heard nothing. Fearing the worst, they opened the door and gasped at the display before them.

Reba was sleeping peacefully on the bed, wearing only her shift, but in her arms - _in her arms_ \- was a handsome prince. The king and queen gasped loudly, causing both the prince and Reba to slowly blink awake. Reba suddenly noticed the different feeling in her arms, and reached out her hand to gently touch the... _lindworm?_  She smiled as she felt his face, it was a monster’s face no more.

“Hello,” she said softly. He smiled under her touch.

“Hello, Reba. You - you freed me. You freed me from being trapped within the monster.”

She laughed. “I could tell there was true beauty underneath.”

“Reba,” the queen said, sounding breathless. “How - how can we ever repay you?”

“Allow us to stay married, perhaps? I agreed to stay with him forever, after all. What - what is your name, sir?” she suddenly asked the former lindworm, realizing that no one had mentioned his name. He said nothing for a moment, before saying brokenly,

“F-Francis, good lady. No one has asked for my name in years.”

She smiled, leaning into him and kissing him gently. His hand reached around the back of her head to bring her closer. After the kiss ended, the king spoke up.

“Francis, my son, we - we are sorry.”

Reba felt him tense up in her grasp, she smoothed a hand across his shoulder to calm him down. “You haven't treated him like your son in so long, I think it will take a long time for him to forge trust with you.”

“We - we know,” the king replied, seemingly embarrassed. “But - there is a way to start to make up for all these years. You see, Hannibal - well, he ran off with that no-good baron last night after the wedding, and the kingdom is yours by birthright, Francis. So, will you - would you take your rightful place, son?”

Francis seemed to relax a bit, she felt him nod. “Y-yes, thank you, thank you so much. As long as Reba is with me, I will happily accept. Do you, Reba?”

“Of course,” she smiled, kissing his cheek again.

And throughout the land, there was great celebration and joy. So much glowing praise for the fair maiden Reba, of her ability to draw out the true prince from his hideous skin. They became the rulers of the land, and were loved by all.

_(Hannibal and Will ran off together to lands unknown, and rumors spread around the kingdom of where they were. Some said that they fell off a cliff, some said they slew dragons, and some said they were just together at peace, wherever they were. It was fruitless to look for them, and soon they were but a part of the story I am telling you now._

_Princess Alana eventually came back to the kingdom and Francis apologized to ruining her wedding to Hannibal. To which the lady replied, “No, thank you. The last thing I wanted was to be married to my love’s brother’s lover.” And promptly swept the Baroness Margot off her feet and married her not a week later.)_

And they all lived happily ever after. Because that’s how these tales go, don’t they? Even if those happy endings get a little twisted along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos galore! They help the writing, which in turn means more stories!
> 
> Tomorrow: Prince Will Graham has never laughed in his life, and the law states that anyone who gets him to laugh will have his hand in marriage. Now, who could possibly get a laugh out of him?


	17. The Princess Who Never Smiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Will has never laughed a day in his life, and whosoever can get him to laugh wins his hand in marriage. That's a challenge Hannibal is eager to accept.

Once there was a prince named Will Graham. And he had never smiled a day in his life. Even as a tiny baby, he never laughed, never smiled. And as he grew up, countless members of the court tried to get him to laugh, to break whatever was possessing him. They always failed.

All attempts trying to marry him off failed, as every royal who came to the castle to woo him was very turned off by the fact that he was not amused with them. Nothing ever cracked his mask of perceived boredom.

So his father, the king, made an official proclamation: Any person who could get the prince to laugh would be allowed to marry him.

Hannibal Lecter listened to the announcement from inside his butcher shop, and he chuckled to himself. As if just _anyone_ could make the prince laugh, it was _cute,_ this little idea. He watched countless subjects enter the palace full of confidence, and leave disappointed. For no one could get Prince Will laugh, not even break into a smile.

Now, as it turned out, Hannibal happened to be very interested in the prince. The prince had a habit of walking through the town once a week to the bookstore and the flower shop, for the purpose of purchasing a new book and and a few roses. The roses were not apparently for anyone, and Will’s glare if anyone asked could melt ice, so no one asked questions.

One day, the sky opened up while he was out, and he ducked into Hannibal's’ shop to get dry. He heard the bell above the door ring, and came out from the back, stopping dead in his tracks. He wasn’t expecting the handsome prince himself to be leaning against his shop door, soaking wet from the rain. It probably wasn't so great that his apron was drenched in blood from a cow he had recently slaughtered.

_(At least the pig he would kill for himself later was passed out in the basement, he wouldn’t be up for another hour at least.)_

“Hello, Your Majesty,” Hannibal said, bowing before him. The prince’s expression didn’t change.

“Hello. I don’t believe I know you.”

“Hannibal Lecter, sir.”

The prince nodded, looking about the shop. “You can call me Will, I hate the ‘Your Majesty’ stuff.”

“Very well, Will,” Hannibal said, wiping his hands off with a bloody rag. “Forgive my appearance.”

“Oh, blood doesn't frighten me,” Will sighed, a carefree wave of the hand. “I go hunting frequently, I'm quite used to the sight.”

That immediately piqued Hannibal’s interest. “Really? Perhaps I should then invite you on some of my own hunting trips.”

Will raised an eyebrow as he sniffed the air. “How bold of you. What is that cooking, it smells wonderful.”

“Only some stew,” Hannibal replied. “Very simple, I have a lot of work this night, I can’t afford the time for a more elaborate meal.”

“It still smells good.”

“Of course, I take pride in my work. Food is one of life’s great pleasures. Would you care for some? It would take the chill out of your bones.”

Will nodded then, accepting the cup of stew Hannibal poured out for him, and taking a sip. Although he did not crack a smile, he said, “It’s absolutely delicious, thank you.”

“Quite a compliment from the prince.”

“Don’t get used to it, they're not frequent.”

***

But Hannibal did get used to it, because Will was visiting his shop very often these days, often to share a quick meal. He never smiled once, but Hannibal could tell that Will liked him. He hadn’t accepted the invitation to go hunting (“It's hard enough for my father to let me out for these walks at all”) but he was _interested,_ at the very least.

Hannibal had asked why would purchase roses along with his book, and the prince merely shrugged.

“I enjoy keeping them in my room. Beauty with hidden sharpness, I appreciate what they represent."

“Surely you must have admirers from many lands that will bring you all the roses you desire, Will.”

“I like to make my own flower choices,” he stated, twisting the rose in his hand. “One perfect rose is better than a hundred half-dead ones.”

Hannibal nodded in agreement, placing a roast in the oven for a customer. “I would surmise the same goes for humor with you. It explains why you've never laughed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You would rather wait for the perfect joke than laugh at a half-baked attempt at humor.”

Will nodded, taking a spoonful of a stew. “Correct again, so _perceptive,_ Hannibal.”

“I try," Hannibal smiled, unable to resist the prince's dry wit.

***

One day, just before Will left again, he turned in Hannibal’s direction. Before Hannibal could ask Will what he wanted, Will kissed him softly.

For once, Hannibal was at a loss for words. Will still didn’t smile or laugh, but he radiated with amusement.

“I’ve thought about doing that for a while,” he said simply. And then he left. When Hannibal could think straight again, he noticed that Will had left this week's rose on the counter. On _purpose._

Hannibal decided then and there that he had to have Will for himself. He was too rare and precious to let slip through his fingers.

***

Will’s birthday was coming up, and every year the king made it a huge event in the castle for the men and women of the nearby kingdoms to try to get Will to laugh. It hadn’t worked out for them yet.

Hannibal was pondering over this matter, of this occasion, when there was a knock at the shop door.

“Come in,” he announced, and the king’s personal messenger entered. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

“The king has decided, Hannibal, that you will be given the honor of preparing the prince’s birthday feast.

Perfect, Hannibal thought. “I am honored, I’ll be over now to start preparations immediately.”

He was led to the palace, and presented himself to the king, before going over his menu for the feast. It would be the grandest meal he would ever make, and he had just the right meat in mind.

Unfortunately, the pig didn’t _understand_ that he had done wrong, and tried resisting and yelling. Hannibal clasped a hand over his mouth to silence him before snapping his neck in one clean break. It was only after he dropped his victim to the ground that he felt eyes behind him. He turned quickly, knife in hand, only to see Prince Will leaning against the castle wall. He looked bored, and oddly, unsurprised.

“So that’s where Lord Mason went,” he said, looking down at the corpse. “A pity, _I_ wanted to do away with him.”

Hannibal smiled. “Are you implying that you are a _killer,_ Will?”

“Didn’t I tell you I go hunting? I’ve been trying to find something that makes me smile ever since I was little. Hunting is the only thing that makes me feel _lighter._ Perhaps one day it will make me smile.”

Hannibal wanted to press further, but the king started calling for Will. Will sighed. “Time to go make myself look all _pretty_ for all the guests. You should hide that body before you make dinner.”

“Duly noted, Your Highness," Hannibal said with a far too innocent smile. "I know a place they'll never look."

***

Dinner was prepared and served in the next few hours, and Hannibal was inordinately pleased with himself and his work.

“Applewood-charred pork in a peach reduction, served with braised radishes and shallots,” he announced, personally serving Will’s plate to him. “And for dessert, _rosewater_ panna cotta.”

“Looks delicious,” he stated, taking a bite and nodding. _Still no smile._ The rest of the guests, including the king, dug into the food as well. Hannibal made no attempt to hide his pleased smile as they all discussed how delicious it was.

“Such a shame Lord Mason can’t be here to enjoy this,” the king remarked, wiping her mouth with his napkin. “This is absolutely wonderful, Hannibal.”

Hannibal bowed humbly. “Thank you very much, my lord.”

“Wonderful, every part of it. What type of meat is this, again?”

“Pig. Quite a _rotten_ specimen, but the true test of a great cook is to make art out of something vile. As I am a butcher by trade, I transform my skill in anatomy into the culinary arts.”

Will’s fork paused on the way to his mouth, staring at the piece of pork speared on it. Then he looked over at Hannibal and locked eyes with him. Hannibal smiled wider as the king said, “Well, the pig should have ran faster.”

“Yes, he should have. But fortunately for us, he did not.”

Will set his fork down, pressing his hands over his mouth and closing his eyes. Hannibal’s chest suddenly seized up, maybe he’d misjudged Will _completely._ The king noticed Will as well, and showed concern.

“Will, are you alright?”

His shoulders were shaking and his eyes were squeezed closed. At this point the entire table was looking at him, unsure of what to do

Which is why it was such a shock when Will pulled his hands away from his mouth and opened his eyes, and started _laughing._

He was _laughing_ and _smiling,_ and he couldn’t _stop._

The entire table gasped in shock, and Hannibal almost started laughing as well.

It took almost an entire five minutes for Will to stop laughing, and then he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Will,” the king said, unbelieving in the sight in front of him. “You - you laughed.”

“Yes,” Will said, the broad smile still spread across his face. He raised his wine glass in Hannibal’s direction. “Congratulations, Hannibal.”

After dinner, the king awkwardly took Hannibal aside and said that since Hannibal gotten Will to laugh, he was technically allowed to have Will’s hand, and - “I accept.”

Will laughed as Hannibal met him in his room later. “I can’t - you - you were _feeding_ \- pig. Yes, Mason Verger _was_ a pig. That, my friend, was a high-quality pun.”

“Was that all it took? I would have made a better one months ago.”

The prince rolled his eyes, snickering in sheer delight. "You were right, love. I was waiting for the perfect joke."

He laughed again, louder this time. He laughed as Hannibal pulled him in for a kiss, and the laughter got more and more breathless and muffled as the night went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I love the cannibal puns :) Please leave comments and kudos galore, I reply to every single one!
> 
> Tomorrow: a little Bella/Jack drabble for a change of pace.


	18. Savitri and Satyavan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets Bella back.

When Jack had first met Bella, it was love at first sight for them both. Even if when he met her, she claimed her name was Phyllis.

“Bella, Bella, Bella,” others would call after her as she walked down the street. _Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful._ So that was what Jack called her.

They were together for six months before he asked to marry her. It was then she took his hand and told him her secret, one she had not told him all this time for she did not wish to hurt him, and thought he would leave before this time.

For you see, Bella was destined to die a year to this day.

“I do not want you to be tied down and suffer when you lose me,” she said, very sensibly, for she was a sensible woman. But Jack claimed that he would never meet another like her, and that he would rather live out the rest of his life alone after she was gone from this earth than never be with her again.

“A year with you is worth fifty years of solitude,” was his reply to every one of her refusals.

They were married that next week, and for the next seven months, they lived in peace and love with each other. But then, Bella began to fall ill with a grave sickness. She told Jack that he must leave her now, before she became so ill she was not a such pretty sight to see to others. But he still found her beautiful and remained by her side, telling her that he promised to be with her until death and he would be faithful even afterwards.

So for the next three months, they made the most of their short time. Bella got sicker and sicker, so sick that her hair itself was too weak and had to be wrapped in a scarf.

Three days before the fateful day, Jack stopped eating, only drinking water. Bella told him that all the prayers in the world would not save her.

“I don't intend to pray,” was his response.

One the day of her death, they were sitting outside in their garden. She said that she was very tired, and she rested her head in his lap for comfort.

It was then the temperature stopped, it was cold, almost to the point of freezing, but the sun still shone in the sky. Jack looked up after hearing the sounds of someone approaching, and looked into Death’s maroon-tinged eyes.

 _“Her time has come,”_ Death said, in a warm voice that did not suit the cold, bitter air around him. _“Let her come to me.”_

Bella’s spirit rose from her body, and joined Death by his side. Jack carefully rested her body in the soft grass and followed Death as they traveled into the forest.

He recited all that he knew about Death, all that there was and will be with him. He claimed that Death was the most just being off all, as he did not care. Rich, poor, young, old, ugly, beautiful, it mattered not. He took them all with him. He preached to him the noble concept of doing good things for no possible reward.

Death was impressed with his tenacity, and told him that he may be granted a wish. However, he could not wish for the life of Bella.

“I wish for a child from my wife,” was Jack’s response. Death hissed, a hideous, rattling sound, as the only way He could fulfill that wish would be to give Bella back to him.

And it was said that Death himself had once claimed his _own_ daughter, and her loss caused him to have to _also_ claim the only one He had ever loved as well. It had torn at His insides throughout the centuries.

So Death told Jack to wish for something else, for he could not bring new life into existence, he was _Death,_ after all. However, he made this claim without including the addendum that said that he would not give him Bella back.

“I wish for my wife to be returned to me,” Jack said this time. Death let out a sound reminiscent of a swarm of wasps and when a storm rolls through, and suddenly he let go of her arm and vanished on the winds.

Jack carefully took the spirits arm, and led it back to where Bella’s body was resting on the ground. The spirit went into her body and Bella breathed in the earth’s air once again.

She had no memories of Death, she had thought she was merely sleeping. Jack took her in his arms again, and they lived out their days together.

This time, Death did not come until it was time for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some housekeeping notes: first of all, thank you all. Every single one of you who have read, left kudos, and left a comment, they all mean so much to me. Second, I have to tell all of my faithful readers that the next week, a lot of the works are going to be a little shorter than usual, as I have something very special planned for Day 27. It will be by longest one-shot yet, and I am putting in a lot of research and time into that piece as it's one of my favorite fairytales. So I apologize for shorter works coming up, but I promise, I never publish anything I'm not proud of, so they will still be quality!
> 
> That got a little lengthy, sorry! So please leave kudos and comments galore, I reply!
> 
> Tomorrow: Will Graham does not want to be in a damn fairytale, he just wants to make out with his boyfriend, screw this nonsense.


	19. The Fish and the Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Graham does not want any part in a fairytale. He just wants to live his life, and ignore the witch in the tree who says that he's going to marry the prince.

Will was but a poor man out in the country, just living his life, but then the damn local witch in a tree told him that he would marry the prince of a neighboring kingdom one day. He refused to believe her, instead content to stay fishing in his house by the lake. He wanted no part in some silly fairytale. However, his life changed when the local baron approached him one day. He had the oddest look on his face as he looked him over

“You -  _you_  are Will Graham?”

“Yeah,” Will had replied, as confused as the baron looked. “Why do _you_ care?”

“No reason.”

But there apparently  _was_  a specific reason, as the baron invited him back to his home for dinner, dressed gave him better clothes then gave him a letter.

“In return for my hospitality,” the baron said. “I must order you to take this letter to my brother, the King himself, at his castle in the north. It is  _vital_ that it gets to him.”

Not having anything better to do with his day or his life, Will set out for the kingdom. It would only be three days’ walking, but he hadn’t gotten more than a day of it completed when a lady bandit and her lover (whom Will recognized from her own wanted poster) held him up at the crossroads.

“Now hand over all that you have,” she demanded. Will rolled his eyes.

“You’ll be sorely disappointed, lady,” he claimed as she emptied out his knapsack. She took out the letter and opened it. “Hey, you can’t-”

She just stared at him incredulously, showing him the contents of letter.

It read,  _brother dear, execute the man who delivers this letter to you._

The lady bandit and her lover started laughing.

“What's so damn _funny?”_ Will demanded.

 _“You’re_ the _infamous_ Will Graham,” the bandit said after the laughter stopped.

“The baron’s been looking for you for years,” her lover added. “He’s annoyed with your very existence. See, he went to the local witch to see if anyone would take his place in the line for the throne, and he learned that one of his own peasants would marry his brother’s son. He’s  _reeeeal_  picky about bloodlines.”

Will paused. “The local witch in the tree? I thought she had the wrong peasant.”

“Nope, you’re the  _one,_  Will.”

“You know my name?”

The lady bandit rolled her eyes. “Unimportant. My name’s Alana, that’s Margot, we’re trying to help you, man. Don’t you want a happy fairytale ending?”

“It’s never crossed my mind," he said flatly.

“Well, we're getting you one,” Alana declared, rummaging around for paper and an envelope in her bag as Margot pulled a pen out of her jacket.

“Out of the goodness of your hearts?”

“No, because when you marry the prince, we want immunity from the law."

“Sure. What makes you think he’ll want to marry me?”

“Eh, you’re cute, that should get you far.”

***

Will had finally approached the castle of the king. Alana and Margot walked with him all the way, wishing him good luck.

“There’s no way this will work, he'll have me killed on the spot.

Alana followed. “Don’t be so _pessimistic,_ Will. Just give him the letter.”

Well, fine, he thought to himself, opening the door to the throne room. He was only doing this to spite them, only out of- shit.

Why,  _why_  did the prince have to be so damn _handsome?_ And he was  _staring_  at him, _damn it,_ he couldn't focus with him  _staring_  at him.

Oh god, the king was speaking,  _shit._

“State your name and business,” the king said, the prince nodding in agreement from beside the throne. Will stepped forward and offered the letter.

“My name is Will Graham. It’s from your brother, Your Highness.”

The king nodded, accepting the letter, opened the envelope, and read the contents. He looked up at Will, then back down at the letter.

“What Is it, Father?” the prince asked. The king paused for a moment.

“It says that you’re supposed to marry him, Hannibal,” the king said, slightly taken aback. Will had to pretend to not look absolutely shocked, as Alana had refused to tell him what had been written. He almost said out loud that that was crazy if the prince wasn’t  _staring_  at him like that. The king shrugged.

“I don't really have an issue with this, my brother's always been right about these matters, but you always said that you refuse to get married, Hannibal. I can-”

“No, no,” the prince  _(Hannibal)_  said, waving his hand. “I accept.”

“Really, what made you-”

“Let me show Will around,” Hannibal said slowly, offering his hand towards Will. “Would you like that?”

And Will accepted the invitation, making laps around the castle and talking for hours. Hannibal liked to go hunting, he was bored of court life, and in terms of things they had in common, they both had a distaste for fairytales.

“It’s not that I don’t like them,” Will sighed as they talked after dinner in the study, a glass of wine in hand. “It’s just that they’re not  _real._ Reality doesn’t work like that. Like I’m cut out for all of that silly nonsense.”

Hannibal agreed, stating that the idea of falling in love and marrying in such a short span of time was _ridiculous_ and impossible. He’d never planned to get married.

“If that’s your belief, why’d you agree to marry me, you’d never met me before,” Will stated.

“I should much rather marry a stranger than any of those I am already acquainted with.”

Will nodded. “I can see that.”

"What made you agree to marry me?" Hannibal asked back. Will just shrugged, taking another sip of the wine.

"I don't have much going for me. Neither do you, I suppose, seeing as you're agreeing to marry me."

"If only to get my father to stop pushing me onto every single person in the royal court."

It was a mutual agreement that night, then. This wasn’t some silly fairytale marriage, it was one of convenience. They didn’t _care_ for each other, they’d respect each other’s boundaries and that would be that. None of that fairytale nonsense about falling in love at first sight, of fluffy clouds and fields of flowers.

This  _mutual agreement_  was broken exactly two days later.

“I love you,” Will purred, as he was pressed up against the door to his bedroom, his hand pulling hard on Hannibal's hair. He really didn’t seem to mind that much, as he kissed just under Will’s ear as his hand slid up his thigh.

“I love you,” he murmured back as Will slid his hands over the buttons of his shirt.

***

Preparations for the wedding was in full swing, and the baron soon arrived, confused at what all of these people were here for.

“Hannibal’s wedding, of course.”

“To  _whom?”_  the baron asked incredulously. “He despises the very _idea_ of marriage.”

“He did until _Will_ showed up. They get along _famously, wherever_  did you find him?”

The baron immediately spat out the wine he was drinking. **“WHAT?** You - you - my  _letter,_ it-”

“Yes, you wanted them to get married. _Excellent_ idea, you always were the bright one.”

In intense frustration and outrage, the baron stormed off and waited for his moment to strike. It was very difficult for Will and Hannibal to be apart, and he needed to get Will alone. But then, Hannibal was called away for his opinion on something wedding related, and Will was out there, on a garden bench, reading a book. It was then he came out and grabbed Will, dragging him away. Now, Will fought back as much as he could, but they ended up on the cliffside, overlooking the sea.

Will shoved him away, scoffing, “What do you want to do, my lord? _Kill_ me? That certainly wouldn’t look great for you.”

“Will, Will,  _Will,_ you  _poor_  soul. I don’t know how you managed to fool the  _entire_  court, but  _I_  know the truth. You’re just a peasant who fell into a string of good luck. But a peasant like  _you_  can’t marry a  _prince.”_

“And why the hell  _not?”_  Will demanded.

 _“Rules,_  of course. And it is my duty as the king’s brother to tell him that the man his son is marrying is unworthy. You’ll be banished forever.”

“No, I- Hannibal, he-”

 _“Loves_  you?” the baron mocked. “How  _sweet,_ like a story in a picture book. But don’t worry, Will, if you can pass a  _simple_  test, I won’t tell them and the marriage can proceed.”

Seeing as he was out of options, Will sighed. “Fine, what is it?”

The baron smirked, removing his gold ring with a ring of rubies around the signet. “Take a good look at this ring, Will.” Will did so. Then the baron took the ring and threw it as hard as he could, over Will’s head, over the side of the cliff and into the sea. Will gasped, rushing to side of the cliff in frantic search of the ring, but it was lost in the swirling waves.

“What - what did you do that for?”

“Your test. Retrieve my ring, or never see your love again. Your choice, Will. And  _good luck_  to you.” Will heard his laughter as he walked away, and nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Will.” Hannibal, thank _god, w-wait, n-no, no-_ “What troubles you, love?”

Will moved away slightly, staring into the sea. “Hannibal, I - I haven’t been honest, I’m not-”

“Upper class?” Hannibal smiled. “I _knew,_ love, I don’t care.”

Will laughed at loud at that, mostly out of relief. “Well, that - that’s reassuring. But if I don’t get the baron’s ring back, he’ll tell your father and get me banned. He threw it in the damn sea, I’ll never catch it. This is no fairytale, there’s no  _way_  I can retrieve it. We might as well jump off this cliff together and end it all.”

Hannibal shrugged at that. “We could do that. It has been a wonderful three months, I can think of no better way to die than in your arms."

“And I thought you  _hated_  fairytales,  _darling,"_  Will smirked.

“Oh, love, this is a tragic romance, not a fairytale. More fitting, don’t you think?”

Will nodded, offering his hand. “Shall we, then?”

Hannibal smiled broadly, and accepted, allowing himself to be pulled closer into a deep kiss.

And then they were falling.

***

“Well, that was a fucking bust,” Will coughed, wiping the seaweed off of his face. Hannibal nodded in agreement, before cringing and rubbing at his sore neck. He had landed strangely on it.

See, the problem with drowning yourself in a symbolic gesture with your lover only works if it’s  _guaranteed_  that you die.

And it’s damn near impossible to drown if you can fucking swim.

So now they were just sore, and wet, washed up on the damn beach and Will  _still_  didn’t have that damn ring. Hannibal offered they run each other through with swords, but Will declined. “We’ll just run off instead.”

Hannibal agreed to this idea, and they were trying to sneak in through the back entrance to the palace, but the king and the baron were back there, as the baron was about to reveal Will's true identity.

“Hannibal? Will?” the king asked, unsure why they were drenched in seawater. “Where have you two been?”

Will opened his mouth to answer when he felt something move in his shirt. He almost blushed as he pulled a still-wiggling fish out. Hannibal, cool as ever, said simply, “Nowhere.”

The king decided now was not the time to question his son, and turned back to his brother. “Now, what were you saying about a problem with the wedding?”

The baron snuck a quick sneer in Will’s direction. Will’s anger was boiling in his veins, and he found himself tearing the fish right in half. Something fell out of the middle of fish's opened stomach.

It was a gold ring. One with a ring of rubies around the signet.

The baron’s words died in his throat as Will picked up the object in disbelief. It was the ring.  _The ring._  How did it-  _what kind of fairytale shit-_

“Is there a _problem_ with the wedding?” the king pressed, but the baron kept staring at Will. Will smiled then, walking over to him and placing the ring in his hand.

“Found it, _sir.”_

The baron couldn’t even argue with him, he - he had passed the damn test. He turned back to his brother.

“The problem - the problem is I can't attend the wedding, I suddenly feel very ill.”

Will almost started laughing there, instead pulling on Hannibal’s arm so that they ended up in the castle before he kissed him. “Ta-da, I passed. I guess we can get married after all.”

“Do one thing for me before we do, love?”

“Anything, Hannibal."

“Get the seaweed out of your teeth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos galore, loves!
> 
> Tomorrow: a scene of domesticity between the Murder Husbands.


	20. The Princess Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluffy Hannigram thing, where Will likes to make fun of Hannibal and Hannibal is too smitten to care.

“Of course you can read Finnish,” Will remarked, leaning against the doorframe as he watched his husband read from a very old book. But the most charming part of the entire picture before him was watching Hannibal lean down with his free hand to scratch behind their new dog’s ear.

And he had claimed that he only tolerated the “mutt.” He only got away with calling Cephy _(“I’m not calling our dog Encephalitis, Hannibal, god”)_ a mutt exactly once, after one night of Will making him sleep on the couch and not touching him for an entire day.

Hannibal looked up from the book, a smile accentuating his cheekbones. “I can only read the language, I am not fluent enough to speak it. And the only way I can even read it is because of the simple fact that Finnish is very close to Lithuanian.”

“And Dutch is close to English, doesn't mean I can read it,” Will replied, offering a martini. He’d taken up mixing drinks since they'd come here, it had started as an excuse to drink so he could sort out his emotions. But now it was just a hobby, something to entertain the both of them. Hannibal accepted the drink with a smile.

“You’re in my chair,” Will said. Hannibal raised an eyebrow as he removed the olive from the toothpick with his teeth.

“Am I, love?”

Will rolled his eyes, amazed how easy it was to love him, after all these years of resisting. So much that he just sat down right in Hannibal’s lap and taking a defiant sip of his own drink.

 _“Honestly,_ Will,” Hannibal said in mock exasperation. “You are worse than the dog.”

“Really, because you’re never fussy when _I_ get in your lap, as opposed to when Cephy does.”

“You don’t shed.”

“Don’t be such a priss, Hannibal. You’re in my chair, I wanted to sit here and you weren’t going to move.”

Hannibal sighs as though he doesn't have a choice. “I am not a _priss,_ and I am not complaining about your choice of seating.”

“Nice to hear you’re not a priss, I used the cheap gin,” Will smirked as Hannibal took another drink. Hannibal paused in the middle of it, giving Will a look.

“I was wondering why the aftertaste was reminiscent of gasoline.”

Will laughed then, moving the book so he could read the cover of the book Hannibal was reading. “What's the book about?”

“Old folktales,” Hannibal replied, still drinking even though he thought the gin was poor. Will could pour poison into a glass and bat his eyes and he’d drink it without hesitation. “I was trying to remember one from my childhood.”

“I thought you were Lithuanian.”

“There is always overlap between cultures, Will. This one is the story of The Princess Mouse, and it contains a tradition I participated in as a child.”

“Oh, so one from the Dark Ages?” Will joked. Hannibal gave him an absolutely withering look.

“I suppose you could live without your tongue.”

“I suppose I could. But you _really like_ what I can do with my tongue.”

“...”

“Alright, keep talking about old traditions, you’ve got me curious,” Will winked, kissing his cheek softly. “Pretty please?”

Damn this _infuriating_ man currently sitting in lap, absolutely _flawless_ in every way. He had him enchanted with a single word. He adjusted his seating position so that Will was more comfortable, and Will sighed, resting his head in the crook of Hannibal’s neck.

“In the tale, the main character cuts down a tree,” Hannibal tells Will, savoring the warmth of his breath and scratch of the scruff on his face, “and it is said that whichever way the tree falls, it will point to their sweetheart.”

“And let me guess,” Will smiled. “You cut down a tree of your own.”

Hannibal smiled in return, his hand reaching up to play with Will’s hair. “Perceptive as always. I did, when I was a young man. Took up an axe, and cut down a tree in the backyard of my aunt’s house.”

“Where did it point to?”

“The woods. For years I pondered what that was supposed to mean, it pointed directly into the woods, at nothing in particular. Into the heart of the woods. I eventually decided that I would be on my own, that I don’t need anyone.”

He paused then, closing his eyes for a moment, remembering the first time he met Will, one-on-one, in Will’s home. “And then I met you, love. In your home in the middle of the woods.”

“The mouse?” Will joked.

“The mongoose under the house while the snake slips by.”

That made Will laugh then, pulling away from Hannibal’s neck and shaking his head. “Was that your attempt at _flirting_ back then? I think I preferred the corpses.”

Hannibal laughed as well. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And if you ever call me a mongoose again, I will hit you.”

“All the more incentive.”

“Masochist,” Will smirked, kissing him then. “Let’s go upstairs and have fun with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos galore, I love responding to them!
> 
> Tomorrow: another Reba/Francis drabble.


	21. The Hidden One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Reba/Francis tale on the value of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's story is a little shorter, as tomorrow I have a special treat for all of you: a little sneak preview of day 27! deliberately keeping it all vague because it works best as a surprise.

There was a great hunter that lived in Reba’s village that no one ever saw. Not for lack of trying, however. For you see, he was invisible. Not even the elders in the village knew what his face looked like. Legend states that he would only appear visible to someone he found worthy.

Reba enjoyed listening to the stories as she sewed together cloaks that she sold to make her living. Sometimes the villagers would ask her, how do you sew so well, Reba, for you cannot see. And she would smile in response.

“You think sight is all that is needed to see?”

No one ever understood what that meant, and eventually they stopped asking.

Now, as it would happen, the village decided that the hunter, nicknamed the Dragon for no one ever saw him, should have a bride. But he posted a note in the square, declaring that he would only marry one who could see him for who he truly was.

Many women and girls went to his home in attempt to be the one. They tried in vain to see him. He would ask, “Do you see?”

Sometimes they claimed he was a great warrior. Some claimed that he was reminiscent of a handsome prince, tall and regal. Still others claimed that he was wiser than anyone within a hundred miles, and it was evident on his face.

They were all lies, for none could _actually_ see him.

“No,” was his reply, every single time. It was always laced with sadness, with disappointment. “You do not _see.”_

After nearly every eligible woman and girl in the village had tried, Reba had a thought. _Perhaps he’d like to just be alone._ There was no shame in that, none at all. She felt like that herself most days. So she spent an entire morning preparing a pie, and set off for the hunter’s house, guided by her sister.

 _“Really,_ Reba,” her sister sneered. “You can’t see anything anyway, why bother going?”

“I thought perhaps he’d like a pie,” was her response. And then they reached the house, and the sister turned back to go home. Reba knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” came the hunter's voice from within.

“Reba, the cloakmaker,” she said. “I have a pie for you. The berry crop was wonderful in my garden, and I can’t eat all of this pie by myself. I thought you may like to share.”

When the door opened, she felt the warmth of his breath before her. “A pie?”

“I hope you like blueberry,” she smiled.

“I - I do, actually. Come - come in.”

She accepted, reaching her hand out and feeling her way into the house before she felt a calloused hand gently take it.

“Forgive me, I - I didn’t know-”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. I’ve lived all these years with no sight, but look how far I’ve gotten,” she smiled as she sat down in a chair lined with doe fur. “We have this pie to share.”

And so the hunter cut into the pie and they each shared it. Not much was said, they were enjoying their dessert. But Reba found she had a question.

“What is your name, friend?”

She could feel him shifting away from the table at that. “No - no one asks that, miss. They only want to see me.”

“That is a shame,” she said softly. “A name is very important.”

“It’s - it’s Francis, Reba.”

“A lovely name, and see, we’re friends now.”

There was a long pause. She knew he wasn’t eating, because she didn’t hear the chewing or the fork scraping across the plate. It was as though he was holding his breath.

Then he broke the silence. “Reba?”

“Yes, Francis?”

“How - how do you see me?” he asked, so hesitant, but so curious. She pondered that question for a few moments. Everyone else who came to the house and told him what he looked like always lied. They only saw in him what they wanted to see, they saw the image of an ideal man, whatever it was for them.

“I see you as a friend,” she replied. “But as for physical appearance, I - well, it’s never occurred to me, you know. I know my sister’s voice, and the voices of the villagers, that’s how I ‘see’ them. Your Voice - it’s rusty with disuse, you don’t have anyone to talk to. But it has a softness to it, one that others could hear if they just listened a little.”

Now his voice had a wet sound to it. “You - you can see me.”

“I - I can?”

“Yes. Would you - would you like to stay? I can bring you the finest pelts to make your cloaks, and find the very best berries that grow wild amongst the thorns.”

Reba smiled, taking his hand from across the table. “I think I would like that very much, Francis. Now, let’s finish this pie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: ....nope, my lips are sealed! You'll have to wait for it! Maybe I'll give a hint if you ask, though :)


	22. The Twelve Dancing Princesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little tease for Day 27's masterwork. Warning: major character death.

Will stands outside the door to their home in Cuba. He can smell the dinner cooking, hear the sounds of their dog yipping and an opera record in the player.

He savors all of these feelings and treasures them in his heart, and then pushes the door open. It’s not locked, they don’t have to lock the door here. Anyone would be a fool _(and tomorrow's dinner)_ to dare enter without permission and ruin what they have.

Will removes his shoes and sets them beside the door on a special mat, and their dog barks in delight as she races over to sniff him. Will laughs, petting the dog on the head and rubbing her stomach.

“Will?” Hannibal calls from the kitchen.

“Sorry, _darlin’,"_ Will teases, knowing that Hannibal Lecter does not blush, but his face is notably warmer whenever he calls him that. “Cephy wanted attention. But I know you do, too, one minute.” He pets Cephy on top of the head one last time before heading into the dining room, dog following at his heels.

Will’s heart warms as he watches Hannibal looked up from arranging the roses in the handblown black vase that Will had given him for their anniversary that past year. Hannibal has that glorious smile on his face, and walks over to Will, pulling him into a deep kiss. Will’s fingers reach up, pulling his the longer, silvery hair just the way Hannibal liked, making him chuckle softly. After he needed to breathe, he tries to pull away, only for Hannibal to press his face against his neck.

“Will,” he sighed, his hand gently rubbing at a hard knot in Will’s neck. “My love, you’ve been away for so long.”

“Just all day, Hannibal,” Will says fondly, knowing that Hannibal hates being described as clingy even though it suits him perfectly.

“That’s why I made a special dinner,” Hannibal smiles, pulling away at last, leaning to the side to pull out Will’s chair for him. Will rolled his eyes, but sat down anyways. Hannibal leans down and kisses him on the cheek before going into the kitchen.

Will grabs a few of the prosciutto roses off of the table and gave them to Cephy, but he was caught as Hannibal came back into the dining room with the plates.

“At the _table,_ Will? She already has some in her dinner dish.”

Will only winks at him as Hannibal sets the plate down in front of him.

 _“Coq au vin,_ made with Burgundy bottled in your birth year, and a side of Swiss chard with crumbles of goat cheese, and just a _hint_ of pomegranate juice reduction,” Hannibal murmurs in his ear, sending chills down Will’s spine as he slowly pours the sauce over the dish. _"Bon appétit."_

Hannibal then takes his own seat across from Will, staring into his eyes. Will smiles like he has a secret, as he spears a piece of the meat and swirling it in the blood-red sauce. Then he carefully lifts the forkful to his mouth, pulling the meat off with his teeth and chews it slowly.

Hannibal looks as though he is holding his breath.

“Delicious,” Will smirks. Hannibal looks at him with such fondness that he can feel it spreading through his body, warming like the wine the dish was soaked in.

They eat in this way for what felt like hours, staring into each other’s souls as they took bites of the delicious food until the air felt thick with wine and lust. As if on cue, Hannibal stands up just in time for the record to end.

“Do you care to dance, Will?” he asks, flipping through the record collection before selecting the perfect one. Will nodded, unable to fight the smile or deny Hannibal this simple joy. Hannibal takes his hand and kisses it gently before pulling him into his arms, a hand tracing patterns on his lower back. The dance is slow, no fancy steps that Hannibal has spent the past few weeks teaching Will. In fact, it seems like they are just swaying back and forth in tune to the music. The tension is thick like the smudge of compote on the corner of Will’s mouth, and Hannibal kisses it off, savoring the sweet flavor. They both break at the same time, clutching so desperately at each other, as though they were smoke that would slip through their fingers. Hannibal kisses him hard, stealing his breath away, and immediately Will feels his knees wanting to give out.

Most days felt like they ended this way. But they always got here differently. Sometimes Hannibal interrupted dinner, letting it get cold while he dragged Will over to the couch. Sometimes Will barely got in the front door before Hannibal has him pressed up against it, he got desperate when Will was away, letting dinner burn in the oven as he covers every inch of exposed skin in kisses. Funny how he always prided himself on patience until he finally had Will. Sometimes he wanted Will to be in control, and on those occasions, Will probably could have slowly choked Hannibal to death and he would have let him.

Sometimes it wasn’t necessarily sexual when Will got back home. Sometimes they ended the night with just dancing and then reading in bed for hours while Cephy tried to crawl under the blankets. Will always let her.

But now it is the exact opposite of those times. Now it is urgent they go upstairs, _now._

“Bed,” Hannibal purrs against his mouth, and Will nods, unable and unwilling to let go of Hannibal. He smiles, pressing another kiss to Will’s lips, a softer one this time, before guiding them both up the stairs. They don't stop kissing the entire way.

 _“Hannibal,”_ Will hisses, trying to not bust his ankle but really, really, not wanting him to stop kissing him. “Why - why the _fuck_ did we buy a house with a spiral staircase?”

His husband only smirked as he pushed him harder against the very thin stair rail. For a split second Will thought Hannibal would actually bend him over the rail backwards and kiss him. It would not be out of character. 

“Elegance,” is Hannibal’s answer to Will’s question. “And it allows me to do this.” And then without a single warning, he physically lifts him up into his arms, causing Will to laugh, feeling dizzy and slightly drunk on Burgundy and lust. He gets another kiss, and then another, and then he lost track until he feels his back hit the bed. He opens his eyes and smiles at Hannibal, who is gazing at him in complete rapture.

“You can touch, doctor,” Will teases, stretching out in the expensive sheets, groaning softly. _“Please.”_

Hannibal lunges forward, ending up on top of Will and kissing the air right out of his lungs.

“You are my life, Will,” Hannibal murmurs against his ear. “You know that?”

“Conjoined,” Will breathes out. “Can’t survive separation. Love is too small a word, but I love you so much. Love you so much.”

“And I worship the very ground you walk on, Will.”

Will laughs, it’s so perfect, laying in this bed, so _hopelessly_ in _love._ “You - you can just tell me that you love me, Hannibal.”

“I refuse to be so _passé,”_ is the muffled response Will gets as Hannibal pops open his shirt button, kissing him there. He pauses for a moment before pulling himself back up, hovering just above his lips.

“I love you, Will.” And then they share the softest, gentlest kiss. One that slowly gets more heated, more intense....

 

and they start going lower, and lower, and _lower..._

 

_“Fuck...please, Hannibal, please, don’t stop, don't stop.”_

 

_“Will.”_

 

_“Hannibal.”_

 

_“Will.”_

 

_“Hannibal.”_

 

_“Will.”_

 

_“Haaannibal....”_

 

“Will!”

 

Will’s eyes shot open then, sitting straight up and groaning as he felt the cold, uncomfortable mattress of the cot in his cell. He stretched his neck out, wiped the downpour of sweat off of his forehead. Not fucking _again,_ he thought with gritted teeth as he glared over at where Frederick was staring from the other side of the bars.

“Enjoying your _show,_ Frederick?” he chose to say, knowing that the doctor was easiest to deal with when he was flustered. “What - what do you want?”

Frederick visibly bit his lip, trying to find the best way to broach the subject, deciding eventually to go with, “You were moaning Hannibal's name in your sleep. _Again.”_

“Yeah? Good thing I got the shame knocked out of me in that cliff dive,” Will snapped, trying to get his breathing under control. The endorphins rushing through his veins faded fast at the sight of Frederick’s smug face. Every time he was woken up from dreaming, it felt like a rug had been yanked out from under him, like he was falling off another cliff but with no support this time.

“I’m changing your medication, you shouldn’t be sleeping so much, it’s not good for you.”

“I have worse nightmares when I’m awake,” Will said, staring at the tan line on his ring finger. The wedding ring was long gone, Jack probably had it melted down or something ridiculous like that. They had taken it when he was in the hospital, after he woke up with a new bullet scar, after he found out that Hannibal was - was -

“You’ve been having these dreams for _weeks,_ Will, it’s not healthy for you to still be-”

“In mourning for my _dead husband?”_ he shot back. Frederick took a deep breath and then tried to look sympathetic.

“Will, you know you can tell me if-”

“All you want to do is grasp at my mind like how a nervous virgin grasps at a pair of panties on prom night,” Will rolled his eyes, forcing down bitter, angry tears. Instead, brittle laughter came out. 

“And _please,_ Frederick,” Will said, stretching back out onto the cot, sighing deeply like he was remembering something _(someone)_ better _(he was),_ “I wouldn’t trade _years_ of name brand for the _cheap knockoff.”_

He turned over to his side, facing the wall. “I’m going back to sleep, Frederick, don’t wake me up. Ever again.”

Frederick opened his mouth to snark back when his phone rang.

“We’ll discuss this in your next session, Will.”

“Don’t get too excited,” was the only reply.

Frederick sneered then, answering the phone as he left Will alone. “Jack? No, I didn’t get to tell him, he was - well, never mind, doctor-patient confidentiality, you know. Just make sure you brief your new... _trainee_... on Will. Tell your new canary about her coalmine before you drop her in here blindly. And warn her that he’s going to be in a _very_ bad mood in the morning.”

 

 

_“Will?”_

_Will is back in Cuba now, back in bed, back where they left off, but it is bittersweet now. He can't stop the tears from falling, even as Hannibal kisses them away softly._

_“Will, I’m here. I’m here, love, don’t cry.”_

_“No,” Will whispers, his voice sounding as though it would shatter like glass if he spoke above a certain volume. “You’re not here. Not anymore. I - I miss you, Hannibal, I need you back. Please come back.”_

_Hannibal pulls away then, looking Will deeply in the eyes before brushing away the hair in his face and kissing him long and slow. He then curls up beside Will, pulling him close to his chest and Will almost starts to cry again. He presses against Hannibal, his eyes squeezed as tightly together as possible, and then everything is just a breath away from being real._

_“I’m always here, Will. All you have to do is close your eyes and go back to sleep.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooo, bad person, this might be the only fic in this collection that didn't have a happy ending.
> 
> Did we all catch the Easter egg in Chilton's conversation with Jack? The "canary"? "Trainee"? *wink wink nudge nudge* let me know if you catch my drift :)
> 
> Tomorrow: character study from Hannibal's perspective.


	23. Iron John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I hurt you with yesterday's fic...well this is still angsty. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Warning for implied character death (but please read to the end for the chapter notes)

Hannibal should have spent more time drawing Will’s eyes. They were always his finest quality, always seeing more than everyone else could, and he had Hannibal melting with a single glance. He could never find the correct mixture of blue and green to color the irises.

For all the hours and all the days spent gazing into them, he didn’t draw those eyes nearly enough. Oh, he had drawn Will plenty of times since they had taken the cliff dive together, but he was more concerned with drawing every single inch of him. He’d never had the chance to be in this proximity to him before, willingly, and it had been intoxicating. It led to several pictures abandoned in the middle of drawing, as his gorgeous muse simply wouldn’t sit still.

Hannibal had asked Jack with a completely straight face from behind his cell if he could have those drawings back. “The ones in the bedside dresser drawer, if you please.”

Jack had only glared.

The pictures were long gone, probably burned to a crisp. Cremated and scattered on the winds. Perhaps those ashes would find their way and would mix with Will’s. He had not survived, Hannibal was told.

Hannibal would have preferred the same fate. That way, he wouldn’t be sitting here in this cell, trying to draw Will’s eyes from memory alone. He wouldn’t have the image of Will’s unsteady breathing as he gently brushed the hair out of his eyes while trying not to vomit from the bullet wound in his lower stomach, _it’s - fuck, god, ahh - ah-alright, Hannibal, I’ll - I’ll be f-fine, I pr-promise._

Does it hurt more to know that someone was lying to you, or to know that they were lying and wake up in a hospital bed still believing them anyway?

Hannibal was undecided on the matter.

He had been stone faced when he had received the news, but inside it was as though God had collapsed in the roof of the Norman Chapel inside his mind. And he was trapped in the debris, unwilling to free himself. The teacup was definitely shattered now. Nothing short of a miracle could ever bring it back together again.

Frederick tried to have sessions with him, Hannibal would only laugh at him. It was play psychiatry, it was _cute._  Frederick would get snippy like an indignant child and try to get under his skin. A small pun about charred meat would usually send him scurrying for a few days.

He was glad, he wanted to be alone with his drawings of Will. Will was gone, he knew he was in the denial stage of grief, and he didn’t know how long it would last. At last count, he’d been in this stage for a year since their happy ending was abruptly ground to a halt.

 _Will_.

There were significantly less privileges than last time in this cell. For example, he was only allowed ten books at a time. He had requested an extensive collection of fairytales. Frederick tried to read into it, Hannibal just let him talk.

He was currently fixed on the tale of Iron John, where no one was to let the terrifying man out of the cage. But then one prince did. His other adventures were not nearly as intriguing as this one action. One of complete selfishness, a trait scarcely rewarded in fairy tales.

And how at the end, Iron John’s true self was revealed because he was freed by someone with pure of heart.

Hannibal sat back in his cot and pondered this matter.

It never said that the heart had to be pure good. Pure could mean that one had clear motives for their actions, damn everyone else to hell.

_Achilles wished all Greeks would die so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. Took divine intervention to bring them down._

Will had set them both free that day, from Hannibal’s physical cell and from the restraints of their environment. He _chose_ him, chose this life with him.

_“I don’t know if I can save myself,” Will had admitted as Hannibal opened a bottle of wine. “Maybe that’s just fine.”_

He'd set them both free, even if he thought they would die together. It hadn't mattered to him, he had freed _both_ of them. Hannibal reenacted the scene in his mind so many times, as it had been the only time in his life he had felt something akin to religious ecstasy.

 

Frederick had said that Jack had a trainee that he would bring in to meet with him, if he’d like that. Hannibal said he would love to meet with her.

He wanted a new mind to tear apart, and Jack always had the best minds around him. A young woman trainee. Jack was a fool to bring anyone here. He hoped that she would be special enough to be entertaining for a few visits. He planned to warp her mind enough that she'd end up here with him, and Jack would have to see the results of his new failure.

Apparently, this new trainee empathized well with the victims, not the killers. An interesting technique, he would use that against her. All he had to do was wait for her.

 

 

_Hannibal is walking in his mind palace, now, into the Norman chapel. He pauses at the top of aisle, observing the holy scene before him._

_Will stands before the altar, his back to Hannibal, holding two chalices in his hands as his head is tilted back, letting the sunlight warm him through the stained glass. Hannibal walks slowly down the aisle, mindful as one should be before holy communion._

_He finally comes side to side with Will, looking at him with reverence. Will’s eyes are closed, but he opens them as he feels Hannibal’s presence._

_“I missed you,” he says gently, staring at the crucifix on the altar. He has teased Hannibal before how much it resembles him. “Where do you go during the day, away from me, away from here?”_

_“Back to the reality of our fate,” Hannibal says in response, staring at the crucifix as well. “Cruel as it is.”_

_“Then stay here,” Will says, a hint of pleading in his voice. He turns to Hannibal then, offering the chalice in his right hand. Hannibal accepts it, inhaling the aroma of the liquid inside._

_Blood._

_Will raises his own chalice to Hannibal, gesturing at the one in Hannibal’s hand. “My blood, shed for you.”_

_“And mine, shed for you.”_

_Will nods, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow drink. Hannibal does the same. It’s harsh, and bitter, and every kind of blasphemous, and it tastes so sweet._

_When they both stop, there is blood all over their mouths. It runs down their chins and stains the white suit Hannibal is wearing and the black dress shirt Will wears as they both drop the heavy chalices to the ground with a loud clang before they embrace each other._

_"Broken for you," Hannibal manages to say_ _against Will's lips. "My body, my mind, my soul, broken for you."_

_Will repeats the words back to him like they are praying, and they are, in their own way. Then they are kissing, and it is heavy, and bloody, and everything feels like it's burning around them. Hannibal dares God to drop the ceiling on them now, he has every intention of having Will right here._

_"Hannibal, we're not - not on the altar," Will manages to laugh a little. It's a sound Hannibal misses, misses so much, and lets Will gently take his hand as they walk down the aisle of the chapel. Hannibal thinks they will go to the house in Cuba tonight._

 

Hannibal does not move as he lies on the prison cot, but his eyes move behind his eyelids they way a cat does while it dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to hell, going to hell, drinking each other's blood as communion wine, yep I just wrote that.
> 
> (If you're a little confused with these two pieces, here's an explanation: Will and Hannibal were caught in Cuba and shot, and upon being awoken, were told the other is dead. It is now a year later in the time line.
> 
> And if you're wondering how our little trainee fits in, well friends, that is day 27's fic, mark your calendars!)
> 
> Tomorrow: a return to traditional fairytale form, with cannibalism and a happy ending


	24. Verde Prato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the kind of fairytale you read your kids before bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rated for some pretty explicit gore. yes, this is Hannibal, but I figure I should warn you anyway.

This is a fairytale that you should never tell your children. It is not fluffy or cute, it is not a pretty story. This is a fairytale for grownups, so please put the children to bed before telling this story.

Long ago, in a faraway kingdom - wait. Why am I bothering with this opening? We all know this didn't happen yesterday in the next town over. Let’s just jump right in, shall we?

So Prince Will of the Wolf Trap Kingdom was a murderer, not for any particular reason, he simply had very dark urges. There were rumors that someone in the family had made a deal with the devil for a male heir, but rumors are rumors, you know. And the court did not know that their prince was occasionally fertilizing the rose garden with some poor lout who had dared bother him, as anyone who started to get wise was swiftly disposed of.

What else did they not know about about? The prince’s affair with the lowly lord Hannibal of the smallest manor.

As the manor was on the very outskirts of town, the lovers had constructed a glass tunnel that went between each other’s homes, and then they would “joy together” (I know the kids are still in the room, what did I tell you? I warned you, this is a fairytale for grownups.) 

Now, they were happy and in deep, passionate love for each other, and all would be well if Hannibal had not been betrothed to the lady Bedelia. He broke it off immediately after he met Will for the first time. Now, Bedelia wasn’t heartbroken over this, she wasn’t very fond of him anyway. But she did hate being tossed aside like she wasn’t worth anyone’s time.

And as is always the case in these stories, she was a witch in disguise.

So she came up with a scheme to make the both of them miserable to the end. She found the glass tunnel that the prince used to visit Hannibal, and enchanted the glass. As the prince made his way back to the castle in the morning, the glass suddenly shattered around him and crumbled into dust. However, he only sustained a few small cuts. But no sooner did he reach the throne room before he collapsed into a coughing fit and his stomach felt as though it was being ripped open. A doctor shook his head as he told him the terrible news: he had swallowed the enchanted glass dust, and as it was enchanted, there was no way to remove all the miniscule shards. It was fatal. No true love’s kiss here, folks, nothing sweet and pure could break the enchantment.

Hannibal heard the news and became distressed that his love as dying, and searched far and wide for a cure. It was no use, nothing could break the enchantment.

He was just setting out for the castle to say his goodbye when he heard a voice laughing from behind a tree. He leaned back and saw a smug looking man talking to an unimpressed girl, and so he hid behind another tree to eavesdrop.

“Exactly, Margot, soon _I’ll_ get to be next in line, as soon as Will dies. Castle’s a perfect place to keep you tied up, isn’t it? Plenty of room to mope and feel sorry for yourself.”

“Why are you in line for the throne, Mason, we’re not related to the royals,” the girl shot back, obviously an unwilling participant in this conversation.

“Shut _up,_ Margot, I made a deal.”

“Funny, I thought you already _were_ the devil.”

“You’re adorable when you’re nervous, Margot. No, I made a deal with some witch, told her about the tunnel Will uses to visit his mysterious lover. She promised that it’d be my life for his, you know.”

Hannibal smiled wickedly to himself. So that was Bedelia's trick. It was so _like_ her, this little deal. One you thought worked out perfectly for yourself, but would come back and haunt you one day.

_Your life for his, **interesting.**_

“What does that mean?” Margot asked, seeming echoing Hannibal’s thoughts. This _Mason_ snickered.

“Oh please, I was supposed to offer the bottle of cure in exchange for the throne, but I always protect my own skin, sister dear. _I_ drank it instead.”

Hannibal noted this piece of information with satisfaction. Bedelia truly _was_ remarkable, he would always give her that. She had set this idiot up with his own hubris. Poetic, really.

He waited patiently for a while longer until both brother and sister came out from behind their tree to go on their way. He tripped Mason so his mouth was full of dirt when he hit the ground. It muffled his stuttering. Hannibal turned him over and smiled at him the way a cat does with a mouse. Then he drew a knife from his sleeve and sliced through Mason’s neck as easily as warm butter.

Margot only made a noise of surprise, Hannibal noted as he looked up at her. She didn’t seem all that sorry about her brother’s fate.

“Apologies, my lady,” he said politely. “But I am under a time constraint.”

“Don’t worry,” she shrugged. “You’ve just saved me the trouble of doing it myself.” And then she turned the opposite direction and went down a new path, free at last.

Hannibal smiled at the corpse before him, taking the knife up once again. This time, he dragged the knife down the chest, down the abdomen, opening it like on would gut a fish before taking the part he needed.

* * *

Will was burning all over, every inch of him was wracked in pain, as though his internal organs were rebelling against him, trying to escape his body. At this point, he just wanted to die. But as he was thinking this very thought, the door to his room opened.

“Can’t I die in peace?” he groaned. “Get lost.”

There was a soft laugh and a hand brushing the hair out of Will’s eyes. “It doesn’t _appear_ you’re dying in peace, love.”

“Come to say goodbye, Hannibal?” Will managed to say with a slight laugh.

“On the contrary, Will,” he said, showing him the bowl he held in his other hand. “I have a cure.”

“Sure you do.”

“If you’re so hell-bent on dying, this will either cure you completely or speed it along. No sense in drawing out the suffering.”

Will sighed then, agreeing and just barely pulling himself up to a sitting position as Hannibal spooned out the thick red substance and offered it to him. Though he felt close to death, he still leaned away from the spoon.

“What the hell is _that?”_

“Pig stomach, here, eat it.” Will would have protested if the spoon wasn’t suddenly in his mouth and he had to swallow the bloody meat paste. Why was it delicious?

He finished the bowl himself and suddenly it was as though he had never been ill at all. His organs stopped fighting back, he felt healthy again. He smiled at Hannibal and kissed him. Then he suddenly pulled away and gave him a look.

“ _Hannibal,”_ he warned, in the way you warn a petulant child, “What was _in_ that bowl?”

Hannibal only blinked at him innocently. “I do not know what you are inferring, Will.”

“I’ll _rephrase,_ then. Hannibal, _who_ was that?”

“Oh,” Hannibal replied, as though the thought had just occurred to him. “Nobody important.”

“I would hope not, I have a reputation to uphold, you know. And so do you.”

"Since I saved your life," Hannibal said smoothy, effectively changing the subject. "Does this mean we can get married now?"

Will pretended to look exasperated, then leaning in and kissing him. "Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on my big piece, so the next two days are going to be a little shorter than usual. But the big piece is verrry long, so still a lot to look forward to!
> 
> Tomorrow: some Marlana family fluff because I have written so much angst lately...


	25. Snow White and Rose Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mariana family fluff.

"Mama?”

Margot looks up from where she was reading in bed, Alana passed out asleep beside her. Their son, Samuel, was in the doorframe, yawning and holding onto his teddy bear. He had a big book of fairytales in the other hand.

“Hey, kiddo,” she said softly, not wanting to wake Alana up. “What are you doing up, it’s late.”

He shrugged a little. “The wind’s too loud, it’s scary. And - and I wanted to see Mommy, she came home late again.”

“I know, Samuel.”

“She did last night, too.”

Margot thinks back to last night and today, wher Alana came home late, taking care to remove all traces of the BSHCI and going straight to bed. She knew that she wanted to keep Samuel and Hannibal Lecter far apart as possible, but it drained a lot out of her.

She was about to tell Samuel to gpg back to bed, she’d read him a story, when Alana moved in the sheets. She sat up, blinking awake and smiling tiredly at samuel.

“Samuel, honey, come here, Mommy’s missed you,” she said, extending her arms to their son. He immediately rushed forward, jumping onto the bed and squeezing her tightly. She hugged him back, kissing the top of his head.

“Mommy, missed you.”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

“Teddy didn’t get a kiss goodnight, Mommy, he needs it.”

Alana smiled, taking Teddy and kissing his forehead. “There we go, honey. And Mommy’s staying home tomorrow, so we can play all day.”

“Will you watch me ride my pony with Mama?”

“Of course,” Alana says fondly, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear and winking at Margot. “And we can do everything you want tomorrow, I promise.”

“Goody, Mommy. Can you read me a story?”

Alana nodded, taking the book and letting him flip through the pages until he found the one he wanted her to read. Snow White and Rose Red.

Margot put down her own book to watch the scene beside her, and Samuel took her hand in his small one. She smiled, and so did Alana as she started to read the story about Snow White and Rose Red. They were two very different girls, but they were both good in their own way. She had just finished the part where the evil troll was stopped by the girls and the bear prince when they heard Samuel snoring softly, curled into Alana’s side. She closed the book quietly, setting it on the bedside table, sighing as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry I’ve been home late so much,” she whispered to Margot. “I just - it’s unnerving to have him ask about Samuel and I - I don’t ever want their paths to cross so I-”

“Shh,” Margot soothed, glad to be the soother for once, to be one to tell someone that everything would be alright. “Alana, I know you’re worried. But we’re okay, I promise. Samuel just wants to see you more.”

“So do I.”

“And so help me, honey, I’m making you ride a damn horse tomorrow.”

Alana mock gasped, soft enough that she didn't wake Samuel. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You only fell off one time and swore off the whole sport. Please try again, because you love me?”

“Fine,” she grinned, leaning over their son to kiss her wife. “Because I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was very short but I hope you all liked it!
> 
> Tomorrow: ...actually I have writer's block with this prompt, so it'll be a surprise for us all!


	26. The White Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another little background piece for tomorrow's fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, y'all, I had such writer's block with this prompt. I really did. So I decided to take a deleted scene from tomorrow's work and use it for this. Blame this on exhaustion, too much green tea, and all the pretentious art films I've been binging.
> 
> Trigger warning for force-feeding.

Will Graham faints in his cell. He has not touched a tray of food in three days, and barely taken more than a few swallows of water.

It hasn’t occurred to him that he isn’t residing in the real world when he's in his head. For all he knows, he’s still on that month-long visit to Paris. In his mind, he collapses from exhaustion after Hannibal slits the throat of the French woman leaning on his arm from before. Hannibal claimed they were having _dove_ for dinner that night, a rare treat.

He blinks awake, strapped to a gurney in the medical ward in the BSHCI. The world does not stop spinning for minutes as he hears hushed whispering around him.

“Why aren’t you eating, Will?”

“Fuck off, Frederick.” Will doesn't bother with filters anymore. He swears he can almost hear Frederick biting the inside of his cheek to save face. Not that there’s much to save, he thinks, letting out a laugh that is positively eerie. “Should take out your other kidney.”

There’s no snappy response this time, just a hand of one of the guards holding his head down as a plastic tube touches his nose as warning.

“Are you going to eat or not, Will?”

Will keeps his mouth closed in defiance. He can hear Jack in the background now, muttering something about - about a _starling. Is there a bird in here?_ he thinks hazily. He thinks back to the time they found a woman in a horse, and a starling inside of _her._ It was still alive, it was her beating heart. Life inside of death, a new hope in spite of the darkness of oblivion. He wants to think about it more when he realizes the tube is down his nose and it is still going lower. It stings, it will sting more to pull it back out.

“My job is to keep you alive until you die, Will,” Frederick says sharply, the smug tone almost too overbearing. It’s as fake and tacky as the strawberry-flavored substance that starts dripping down the tube. He can feel each and every drop as it drips into his stomach. One drop at a time, it seems. 

It’s too much, it’s their idea of Chinese water torture.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

He’d rather drown in the fake strawberry meal replacement. It feels like it goes on for _hours._

He doesn’t look at anything except the blank, white ceiling and the sterile lights. He can still hear Jack talking to Frederick, still talking about birds. He decides to crack, in order to get it to stop. There is a pounding in his stomach, in his chest. It sounds like wings flapping, beating against his ribcage. He takes as deep a breath as he can before screaming.

It’s awkward, screaming with a feeding tube down your nose, because it feels as though it’s trying to make you swallow your own screams.

He opens his mouth and screams, and watches as hundred of black starlings come flying out of his mouth, scraping against his teeth and jaw and cawing like mad. The stale white surgical lights are dotted out by hundred of birds, and as his own screaming fades and he feels himself passing out again, Will laughs around the tube, and fades into the black again.

 

 

Hannibal’s dreams are interrupted by a scream, and he sits up, startled. He looks down at Will, as they are in his mind palace, trying to sleep away this prison sentence.

“What's wrong?” Will mumbles, sleep slurring his voice as he extends a hand out of the warmth from underneath the sheets and touches Hannibal’s arm lightly. “What is it?”

“I heard you screaming.”

“Right here, ’m right here, not screaming. Go back to sleep, I’m the one with the overactive imagination, remember?” he smiles slightly. "Come on, come back to bed."

Hannibal then slides back under the sheets beside Will, who is already back asleep. But he cannot join him in sleep. No, something troubles the back of Hannibal’s mind.

Anticipation, but for what, he does not know. 

He also does not know why when he does fall back asleep, his dreams are filled with the sounds of wings flapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: the BIG DAY!!!!!! My longest longshot ever, and one I...am still polishing. But get ready for Clarice kicking ass and taking names, and being girlfriends with Ardeila Mapp because I said so.


	27. Eglė the Queen of Serpents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarice Starling is willing to do whatever it takes to capture Buffalo Bill. Even if it means facing off against Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT IT'S DONE.
> 
> I hope you all like it! This took for-fucking-ever to write (we're talking six solid hours of Lana Del Rey tracks) and honestly I'm proud of it. So please enjoy!

Hannibal Lecter was dead.

That was the first thing the FBI told Will when he woke up in the hospital room, hooked up to incessantly beeping machines. Not even the bullet wound hurt as much as his broken heart. The tears leaked freely from his eyes, blurring out the world.

He wasn’t allowed to see the body, no matter how many times he begged. The argument of them being legally wed with the papers to prove it was discarded. He was told that Hannibal was cremated and the ashes scattered far and wide. He was no more, he was _safe_ now.

So all Will was left with were the memories. Memories of Cuba, Argentina, Russia, a month in Paris. Memories of bloody knives, of home cooking, of soft beds and warm kisses.

_Of the sound of bullets as Hannibal pressed one last kiss to Will’s lips before the world went black._

They tried to remove his wedding ring soon after he woke up. He bit right through the finger of the nurse like a carrot, and when he woke up from the sedatives, the ring was gone. He tried to stab the next nurse with his IV needle before breaking down into tears.

Jack came to see him, looking solemn. “I’m sorry it took us this long to find you, Will.” _Not that we killed your one true love._

It hurt to turn to his side but Will did anyway, staring at the clock on the pristine white wall. “I wish you had left me dead.”

Jack didn’t have much to say after that, and Will didn’t care to listen to anything else. He retreated into his mind and stayed there.

Will wasn’t arrested for his crimes, even though he begged. He wanted the death penalty, he’d prove he was sane, just let them throw the switch, inject the needle. He was pronounced legally insane and unaware of his actions due to "mental manipulation," and put back into the BSHCI for "treatment."

He didn’t care.

He didn’t care when Frederick came to have his little required sessions, still the same smirk on a new face.

Frederick hadn’t found that funny. _Hannibal would have._

Will didn’t bother to keep count of the days he’d been locked up. What was the point? 

Frederick informed him one day it had been exactly one year, and he was eligible to be let go for good behavior. Will bit down hard on the orderly’s cheek immediately, ripping clean through the skin, leaving a hole. It reminded him of Cordell, and Hannibal’s proud smirk. His heart clenched at the memory.

He clung to the memories like a lifeline, retreating into his mind palace for days without coming back out.

 

_“I miss you,” Will whispers brokenly, laying against Hannibal’s chest. They are in bed, all the windows open with the curtains blowing in the window. It is a hot Cuban night, but the sheets were cool to the touch. Hannibal’s hand was resting comfortably on Will’s hip, holding him close._

_“I know, my love.”_

_“I miss hearing that, too. I want to be with you, we-we never should have left the house that day, should have spent all day in bed. They never would have found us then.”_

_Hannibal’s laugh is low in his chest, and he brushes a lock of hair from Will’s face in reverence before kissing him softly._

_“We’ll be together again, Will, I promise you. And soon.”_

_Will leans up to kiss him again_ when a smug voice shattered his fantasy.

“Will, you have a visitor,” Frederick said, barely able to contain his enjoyment at Will’s annoyance. “A _very_ lovely young woman,” he smirked as he looked her over.

Will turned over in his cot to see that there was indeed a young woman there. Her cold glare at Frederick was amusing and welcome as she removed her file from his hand herself.

“Thank you, Doctor, but I can handle myself,” she said firmly. She was no nonsense, Will could appreciate that. 

Frederick quirked an eyebrow before saying, “Whatever you say, _Miss_ Starling.” Clarice stopped paying attention to him then, turning it all over to Will.

“Mr. Graham, I’m with the Bureau,” she stated, taking a seat in an uncomfortable plastic chair set out for her. Will looked her over.

“Agent... _Starling,_ was it?” he asked. She nodded. “That’s a temporary badge, you’re still in training.”

“Yes sir. Jack Crawford sent me.”

Will sneered at the very name, rolling his eyes. “Jack sent me a trainee. A _trainee._ Still the same man. What do you want, Agent Starling?”

She visibly straightened up, but not out of fear. She was tough, she knew who she was dealing with. “Mr. Graham, are you aware of the ‘Buffalo Bill’ killer?”

“He skins his hides,” Will answered, he was indeed aware of the killer. He'd been allowed a hard copy of TattleCrime now and again. “Waste of the meat, in my opinion.”

He had to give Agent Starling credit, she didn't flinch at his sinister smile as he said that, unlike the the way Frederick noticeably looked away whenever he didn’t want to be bothered.

“Why the hell does Jack have you in here talking to me, Agent Starling?" Will asked again. "You look very smart, very practical. You don’t deserve to be here.”

“I’m here to ask you for your insight into the case, sir," she replied.

Will broke out laughing. It bordered on hysterical, because he just could not fucking believe that Jack would be _that-_ “J-Jack Crawford pulled you out of class, didn’t he? Told you that this was how you would _really_ make a difference?”

“Yes sir.”

“He’s going to break you and then use you until the end,” he managed to say in between bouts of laughter. “Look at me, Agent Starling. I’m broken so far that I’ll never be put back together, and he’s _still_ using me. Did he tell you about Miriam Lass, about what happened to her? You’ll snap like a twig and he’ll rub both pieces together to burn himself a fire to keep warm. _That’s_ what he’ll do to you, you realize that?”

“Regardless,” she continued on, not letting his words get to her, “The Bureau is offering you a deal on your own terms if you help with the case. What do you want, I’m sure it can be provided.”

“What do _I_ want?” Will asked himself out loud, sarcasm evident in his voice, as well as bitterness. “I want Hannibal back. If you can do _that,_ Agent Starling, I’ll tell you anything you want.”

Clarice sighed, she knew this wouldn’t be easy, she was warned he was stubborn. “Fine. I’m leaving some evidence for you, anyway. At least think on it, sir.”

“I think that he can kill all the girls we wants, and I _still_ wouldn’t care,” Will spat, turning away. “Goodbye, Agent Starling. And think over what I told _you.”_

Seeing as Will wasn't going to speak to her anymore, Clarice slid the evidence through the mail slot. He made no attempt to get up and look over the papers.

Dr. Chilton walked her out and kept talking to her, she didn't want to listen, she was planning her next meeting already. She lit up a cigarette outside and that sent him scurrying, maybe that had been too mean. She breathed out the dark smoke with her own frustrations.

_Will laid back on his cot, squeezed his eyes shut and thought about braised pork and lips that tasted like the bottom of a mojito._

 

 

Jack had something to show Clarice in his office. He pulled her out of class again, and Clarice made a mental note for Ardelia to give her the notes for the lecture she would be missing.

“What is it, sir?” she sighed taking the seat opposite from him. “I’ve been to see Graham again, I haven’t gotten anything from him. I’m doing my best though, sir.”

Jack said nothing, both hands clasped together, looking deep in thought. Then he finally spoke. “Starling, I’m about to show you something confidential. You have proved trustworthy in all of your cases and are top of your class in all areas. But you cannot break this trust.”

“You have my word, sir.”

Jack hesitated, a hand over his computer mouse before he very decidedly clicked on a link that led to a security camera.

Clarice’s gasp was barely audible.

“Sir,” she whispered. There was no need to whisper, they were alone, but it still felt appropriate. “That - that’s - he’s dead, sir.”

Jack’s glare at the screen was cold as ice as he watched a very much alive Hannibal Lecter drawing silently at his desk in his own cell in the BSHCI.

“I wish he was, Starling."

Clarice didn't know why she felt the cold rush of anger down her spine. She didn't like being lied to, she didn't like lying, period. “Your old profiler is a wreck because he thinks Lecter's dead. He-”

“Will’s recovery is _dependent_ on believing that Hannibal Lecter is dead,” Jack spat, his own anger rising.

“His death is more certain,” Clarice replied, keeping her cool. “You know he hardly eats on his own now, he-”

 _“Buffalo Bill_ is your priority, Starling. Not Will Graham.”

“Of course not, sir. I forgot, he’s _yours.”_

Jack’s glare was directed at her now. “Go, Starling. I want you back in here at eight sharp tomorrow, with a list of questions for Hannibal, you will be interviewing him instead.” Clarice dropped the textbooks she was holding, she was so startled. He wanted her to _what?_

“What?” she asked though her teeth. “Lecter, sir? You know what happened the _last time_ you consulted with Lecter on a case. And - and you want _me_ in there? Why _me?”_

“I need you as the go-between, Starling. Maybe you can appeal to his sensitivities, get him interested enough to talk.”

“Sir, he’s a monster.”

Jack nodded his head, sipping his coffee. “I know, Starling. The devil himself.”

“Then why do I have to sell _my_ soul to fuel your obsession with those two?” Clarice snapped, angry that she was put in the middle of this game of chess without her consent.

“You’re not.” Then Jack stood up. “I need to talk to Zeller and Price, you can read through the files on my desk.”

“Sir?”

“What?” he asked, exasperated.

She swallowed. “Does Lecter... _know_ Graham’s alive?”

Jack paused. “No,” he said finally. “He was told Will died at the hospital.”

Clarice stood there staring at Lecter’s mugshot on Jack’s desk, a cold feeling of dread in her stomach.

 

 

“Hey, girl,” Ardelia called over from where she was at the kitchen table, her work spread out all over it. She noticed the troubled look on her roommate/girlfriend's face. “You look sick. You want some tea?”

Clarice smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t think tea can solve my problems right now, Ardelia.”

“No problem can’t be solved with a cup of tea,” she said back, getting up to put the kettle on to boil. “What did Crawford want, dragging you out of lecture, again. Doesn't he know you need to pass or they’ll recycle you through?”

Clarice rolled her eyes, then started telling her everything. Ardelia was the most trustworthy person she knew, self-serving, but always ready to help out. She nodded after Clarice told her the whole story, and she spread out all of her files onto the kitchen counter.

“Damn, girl, double date with _two_ psychopaths tomorrow. I wish I had that kind of a social life.”

Clarice snorted a little, it felt good to laugh. “They don’t _know_ about each other, Ardelia.”

Ardelia gave her a look remnants of the one she gave the guy who asked her if she was into threesomes since she was bisexual. “What the fuck? Bitch, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. All the stuff I’ve read about those two, that dissertation by Dr. Du Maurier, _all_ that says that Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham are a tour-de-force together, but apart? Remember that night the police almost caught Lecter? Three people close to death, one teenage girl dead. It’s like keeping the pin taught on a grenade. And - and Jack Crawford wants _you_ to talk to him?”

Clarice shrugged before lighting a cigarette and walking over to the window to smoke out of it. Ardeila could tell that she was nervous, upset, angry. She looked down at the files, pulled out the pictures of Lecter and Graham in the hospital after their recapture and bringing them over to her.

“Hey,” she said in a lighter tone, trying to get her to smile, “Look at the bruising. Who had to document their hickies, at least that’s not _your_ job.”

Clarice giggled then, actually giggled. “Yeah, yeah, guess you got a point.” Then she sobered up again, taking a long drag. “But I can’t believe that Crawford wants me to talk to him. Why _me?”_

“Easy,” Ardelia said, tossing the photos over to the coffee table. “He knows he can't get anything out of him himself. He’s using you as bait.”

“I’m not bait,” Clarice spat, hissing as a little ash got on her fingers. “I’m not playing that game, that’s not why I signed up to be an agent. He - he told me that he wanted me because I could empathize with the victims of Buffalo Bill and I could be an asset to the case. But now, I’m just- I’m just his pawn, his pawn in that warped chess game he’s been playing with those two for years.”

“Okay, bitch,” Ardelia interrupted. ‘Bitch’ was a term of endearment for each other, this didn’t phase Clarice. “You are nobody’s goddamn pawn, you hear me? You beat me in chess all the time, girl. You aren’t going to let them break you. Not you, Clarice. Not you.”

She kissed her gently on the cheek, smiling softly. “Let me make you some tea, and go over what you’re going to do tomorrow, what you’re going to say.”

Clarice smiled back, stubbing the cigarette on the windowsill, flicking the butt out the window. “Yeah. Thanks, girl.”

“No problem. Besides, I can't let Lecter eat you, where am I ever going to find another roommate/girlfriend who can iron a blazer five minutes before class starts?”

 

 

“Jesus, Starling,” Jack breathed out, hand over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “What are you doing, sitting my office in the dark?”

She shrugged from where she sat in his chair barely outlined by the light coming in from the hallway. “Thinking about cannibalism.”

Jack shook his head, gathering his coat from the rack. “We leave in five minutes, be out front.”

“Sure thing.”

“And Starling,” he said, pausing before speaking again. “Be careful with Lecter.”

She laughed, her face hidden by the darkness. She threw her hands up. “A little late for that, don’t you think, sir?”

“Starling-”

“I know what I said, sir,” she said firmly, and Jack could just make out her eyes in the darkness. His stomach twisted at the coldness in them. He turned and left, leaving her to her thoughts, even if he knew it was dangerous.

Clarice sat by herself, in the darkness, the only light coming in from crack in the door. Her fingers ran over the pictures of Hannibal and Will in front of her. The one of them collapsed onto the ground, bullet wounds and all while still clutching desperately to each other. It looked like some tortured painting, with the blood and dirt staining their pristine clothes, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Will Graham empathized with killers, that was how he caught them. She empathized with the victims. 

And that was her key.

Hannibal and Will, they could kill her in a second. _Pretend the lion is not in the room._

They have no ties to humanity, only to each other. Appeal to that. Find an opening, and don’t bother to lie.

Now, she needed to forge trust with Lecter, a task no one had ever accomplished except for Will Graham. How did that start? What attracted Lecter to Graham, what was the _first_ way Hannibal examined someone?

It suddenly dawned on her, and it made her smile. She laughed outright in the car, and Crawford looked unnerved at the sound.

 

 

Clarice collected the evidence from Will’s mailslot, lingering just long enough for Will to move forward and grab her hand through the opening. She did not panic, she wasn't going to let him see her panic. She had to have faith he wasn’t going to hurt her. Maybe not _yet,_ at least.

Something like amusement twinkled in Will’s eyes as noticed her faking, and made no attempt to hurt her, just held onto her hand. Guards separated them before any damage was done, but Clarice had what she wanted.

Will smiled in her direction, even as he was sedated under Chilton’s orders. She found herself smiling back.

She purposely ignored all of Chilton’s ramblings and shallow flattery as they walked down endless hallways to where Lecter was kept. She did catch one phrase he made just before they arrived at the cell.

"Oh, are you _ever_ to Lecter's taste, if you'll excuse the phrase, _Miss_ Starling. He has quite a fondness for pretty brunettes," he said in such a sleazy tone that she wanted to take a shower. She sent him a fake smile in return.

"I graduated from UVA, Dr. Chilton, it wasn't a charm school," she fired back, then tuning out any other comment he tried to make. And at any rate, anything he had to say stopped immediately as Hannibal Lecter looked at him from his restraints in the chair by his desk in his cell. He looked at Chilton like he was a piece of gum stuck on the bottom of a shoe. At any rate, he brightened when Clarice was seated in front of him.

“Clarice, isn’t it?” he asked with a gracious smile. _Funny, it’s only Lecter and Graham that haven't treated me like a piece of meat here, she thought._

“Yes sir, Dr. Lecter.”

“Appalachian upbringing, but repressed. Still visible in the slight accent. You take your coffee black. And perfectly _dreadful_ apple-scented shampoo. Far too overbearing,” he stated, looking bored already with the situation before him.

Clarice had been thoroughly briefed on Lecter. The fire had mostly gone out since capture, he hardly tried to attack anyone now. He had only maimed one doctor since his stay, just enough to ensure the insanity defense. He had made no attempt to escape.

 _No point with no one to share it with,_ she thought silently.

Hannibal’s wrists were attached to the table by handcuffs, he folded them against the table, smiling at her as though they were on a pleasant lunch date.

“What is this meeting for, Clarice?” he asked. “The Buffalo Bill killings, perhaps? I’m afraid I am not the correct man for the job. _He_ is dead now.”

She didn’t miss the coldness in his eyes at that statement. “Be that as it may, doctor, I still have some questions for you, and some evidence for you to look over.”

Lecter looked unamused until she reached her hand across the table, deliberately too close. He inhaled her scent, then visibly froze, eyes subtly recognizing the scent on her hand. One he hadn’t smelled in over a year.

_One he never thought he would smell again._

"Obsession," Clarice said nonchalantly. This surprised him enough to nearly let his mask slip in front of this remarkable young woman.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Obsession For Women. My perfume, in case you were wondering." A blatant lie, but then he understood what she _meant,_ she was telling him a secret without speaking out loud. _What a clever girl._

She opened her mouth to ask about the case, he brushed her off with a wave of a chained hand. He was going to tell her a secret back, then.

“Let me tell you a story, Clarice. A story from my home. Then you share one from your home. Quid pro quo, Clarice. And then I will tell you about your man.”

She had no choice but to sit in the chair and be enthralled with an old Lithuanian fairy tale.

_Once upon a time, there was a beautiful maiden named Eglė who was bathing with her sisters in the stream. A serpent, named Žilvinas, crawled into the sleeve of her discarded dress, and declared that he would only leave if she pledged herself to him. She agreed._

_Her family and kingdom did everything in their power to save Eglė from her fate. They offered up countless other, lower creatures instead, but Žilvinas would not be fooled. Instead, he took his love to his kingdom at the bottom of the sea, where they lived happily for many years._

_Until one day, Eglė returns to visit her family on the land, and they decide to keep her with them forever. They learned the secret, that Eglė will call out to the sea for her husband:_

_If alive – may the sea foam milk_

_If dead – may the sea foam blood_

_They call for Žilvinas, and as he emerges from the sea, his love’s family attack him and chop him into little pieces and scatter them in the wind. They did not tell Eglė what they had done._

_So when it came time for Eglė to return to her love, she called to the sea:_

_If alive – may the sea foam milk_

_If dead – may the sea foam blood_

_But only blood foamed from the sea, and she cried out in despair at what had been done to her love. In retaliation, she turned herself into a steadfast evergreen, so that her family could not have her back and she would remain in devotion to her love._

“That’s a lovely story, doctor, but what has that got to do with me?” Clarice asked when he had finished. Hannibal's eyes went from being far away to zeroing in on her.

“It has everything to do with you,” he replied, looking at her like she was divine grace. “Clarice, occasionally I drop a teacup on the ground and I am not satisfied when it does not come together again. Does Jack view you as a fragile little teacup, Clarice? Or more like a toy he will break when he grows tired of playing with it so that one else can use it afterwards?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I am no one’s plaything, Dr. Lecter. And I certainly am not _yours.”_

“Tough mentality,” Hannibal nodded. “Impressive, truly impressive.”

And their conversation continued like that for far too long, a game of verbal ping pong. Clarice knew that he was prying into her mind, and then it was only a matter of time before- “Now tell me about your childhood. Clarice. A sad event. Something... _moving.”_

What could she do? What _should_ she do? If she told him something, he’d torture her with those memories forever, bring the nightmares back. But if she didn’t...he’d find a way to tear them out of her unwillingly, and that sounded like a far worse fate.

So she told him about the lambs with cold anger rising in her throat. About how she broke in and tried to save one from her uncle's slaughter, running far into the darkness, only to be caught and sent to the Lutheran orphanage. They killed her lamb that very day.

She told him that she was helpless then. She was not going to be helpless now, she was going to save the lost lamb Catherine Martin from her slaughter. The screams she heard in her dreamswould finally stop.

Hannibal stared deep into her eyes as she told him everything. He looked intrigued, and even impressed when she felt angry tears welling up in her eyes. Crying for Clarice was not a sign of weakness, he noted. It took immense bravery for her do such a thing.

_Real magic can never be made by offering someone else’s liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back._

Time was up afterwards, and she stood to leave, shaken, but eyes cold as steel.

“Thank you, Clarice,” Hannibal breathed out as she was escorted out of the cell. _“Thank you.”_

 

 

Their second meeting went much like the first. An elaborate game of chess, without one person ever having complete control of the board. Dancing in circles.

Hannibal was drawing this time. From where she was seated she couldn't tell what, exactly, but then again, she didn’t really care.

“Let me see your eyes, Clarice,” he said suddenly, instead of answering her question. “I’ll answer the question afterwards.”

“Why?” she asked, her eyes determinedly fixed on the plain table. Hannibal’s voice was like the snake from the Jungle Book, the orphanage always had that movie playing.

_Trussssssst in meeeeeee……_

“Eyes are the truest part of the human form, Clarice. The windows to the soul. What is your soul made up of, my dear?”

Clarice looked up then, giving him a hard glare. Hannibal smiled, blinked as though he were taking a picture, then turned back to drawing. “Thank you, Clarice. Would you like this drawing once it is finished?”

“You’re - you’re drawing _me?”_

“I make it a habit to draw anything I find fascinating. It’s the most valuable form of study, Clarice, helps distill down the physical form and imagine the mental. But your question, forgive me. I have a different answer: you don’t want to catch your man, Clarice.”

That got her to seriously pause. “What do you _mean,_ doctor, of _course_ I-”

“You want to _save Catherine_. There is a difference between wanting to catch a killer and wanting to save the innocent, Clarice. Rather _altruistic_ of you. Tell me, do you crave change?”

She didn't see why that was relevant, Lecter only smiled again.

Buffalo Bill wanted to transform, he said. It was obvious, given the death's-head moth found in the victim's throat. An _imago,_ a means to change. To _become._

Buffalo Bill was an old patient of Hannibal Lecter. But did he reveal this at the top of the interview? No. He told her this as she was escorted out of the cell, and she had to be pulled back so she couldn't press him for further information.

“Skinned his ex-lover’s new man. Just like a rabbit,” he smiled, showing his teeth as the guards restrained him. Chilton wouldn’t let her stay and ask more questions, “rules are rules, Miss Starling.”

“Oh, Frederick,” Hannibal _tsked,_ the _image_ of fake sympathy. “Don’t look at Clarice like that. No woman of good taste cares for a well-done steak.”

Clarice hadn’t been able to hold back a smile. Hannibal had smiled back at her, glad that he could evoke such an emotion from her.

 

 

“What do you mean, you had my meeting with Lecter canceled?” Clarice spat, glaring at Jack as he sat behind his desk. He didn’t even budge as he gave her a stern look.

“Hannibal Lecter is playing with you, Starling, it’s too dangerous for you to keep seeing him. I’m canceling all of your appointments with him.”

She was close to seething now. All this work, all those hours of Lecture staring into her soul, drawing her, dragging out her past and tearing open the stitches on old wounds. “Buffalo Bill is obsesses with women, he lives to hunt women. And - and not a _single_ woman is hunting him down except for me. Sir, I’m so _close,_ I know I can-”

“You're right, you’re too close to Lecter,” was his sharp reply. “I’m not letting you fall into one of his traps.”

Clarice bit her lip in anger, and delivered a low blow. “I’ve had it with all you sons of bitches. If you really _had_ learned from your other mistakes, you wouldn’t have pulled me out of class.”

Before Jack could yell at her, she grabbed the file off the desk and said in a calmer voice. “I’m having my last meeting. I’m going to find Catherine. Catch up.”

And then she was gone, her short pumps clicking down the hallway.

Jack tried not to think that it might be too late. Not just for Catherine, but for Clarice.

 

 

If he had been able to, Clarice was sure Hannibal wanted to touch her at their next and last meeting. Not in a skeevy sort of way, but out of curiosity, scientific interest. Touch makes things real, it builds trust. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Hannibal Lecter to trust her, and she really, truly didn’t want to trust him. Everyone who trusted him was either dead or broken, and she was getting out of this in one piece.

Chilton wouldn’t budge to let her sit across from him at a desk, they had to meet through the glass. She didn’t like that, it made the tension higher.

“How is the case, Clarice?” Hannibal asked politely. He was standing up with perfect posture, watching _her_ through the glass like _she_ was a specimen. “How does it make you feel?”

“Playing my therapist, Doctor?” she replied, crossing her arms. He only smiled.

“I _am_ a therapist, Clarice. Answer my question.”

God, his eyes stared right through, waiting for an answer. But lying wouldn’t get you anywhere with Lecter, he could always tell. You had to tell him the truth. It was the only way to lie to him.

“I feel like Bluebeard’s wife,” she finally said, noting that Hannibal’s interest was notably piqued. “I’ve opened the wrong door, learned things I shouldn’t have learned. And it’s only a matter of time before it comes back to bite me.”

“Don’t lower yourself, Clarice,” Hannibal said after a while, contemplating her honesty. “What makes you think you are not the last wife?”

“I-”

“Buffalo Bill’s had many girls these past months. Catherine may well be the last one, now that you are her savior.”

Clarice quirked an eyebrow. “You think I’m a savior, Doctor?”

“Psalm 23. You grew up in a Lutheran orphanage, you must know it by heart.”

“Doctor-”

 _“The Lord is my shephard, I shall not want,”_ Hannibal recites, clearly enjoying himself. _“And yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”_

Clarice closed her eyes, in exasperation, before laughing gently to herself and saying out loud, “For I am the meanest goddamn bitch in that valley.”

Hannibal smiled at that, even as Jack came in to remove her, he thought this had gone on long enough. “You are a wonder, Clarice. You will let me know when those lambs stop screaming, won’t you?”

“Tell me where to find Buffalo Bill, doctor,” she demanded, moving closer to the glass. Hannibal sighed with his eyes, it was so blatantly fake that it made her sick. “Tell me, I gave you what you wanted.”

“I already _told_ you, Clarice,” Hannibal _tsked,_ amusement spread across his features. “The only man who is qualified for that job is _dead._ I do hope you haven’t wasted your precious time to save _poor_ Catherine.”

“Starling, come here,” Jack ordered from the doorway. She didn’t move as Hannibal lifted the file off of his desk and brought it to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply. Then he made his way close to the glass.

“Don't forget your case file,” he said, smirking. Clarice ignored Jack and Chilton’s orders as she went up against the glass and put her hand in the mailslot. Hannibal dragged his index finger across hers as she took the file back, staring deep into her eyes.

“Goodbye, Clarice,” he murmured, a broad smirk on his face. She found herself smiling back, to her surprise, because at the very least, he had listened to her. He had given her the key to open Will Graham. It was going to cost the Bureau, cost a lot, but then again, none of this had been _her_ idea, right? She was Jack Crawford’s little pawn, right? She was stuck in a corner, she would sacrifice herself for the greater good. Even if it meant that she would be in more danger.

She felt a hand on her shoulder as she kept watching Hannibal, and did not turn around. “Dr. Chilton, if you don’t move your hand I will light up a cigarette in front of you.”

The hand instantly vanished and she smiled again, turning around and walking out of the wing herself, claiming that she was going to the lobbyHannibal looked over at Jack with an innocent look.

“Where _do_ you find your people, Jack? Do you have any _more_ to visit me?”

Jack glared and Chilton hissed that he was revoking privileges, taking all of his books, all of his drawings, and Hannibal kept his face blank as he twisted the hidden paperclip Chilton’s lazy guard had forgotten to remove from the file in his hand.

He went back to his desk and finished his drawing: Clarice, standing in a field of yellow flowers. All was calm around her, and she was smiling.

In her arms was a baby lamb.

 

Clarice did not go to the lobby like she told Jack and Chilton. She went directly to Will Graham’s cell instead, standing before the glass and ready to do business.

“I’m out of time, Mr. Graham,” she snapped, causing him to open his eyes from where he was laying on his cot. “Buffalo Bill’s going to skin Catherine either tomorrow or the next day, and I need you to tell me where he is.”

Will looked over at her, not moving from his current position. He only shrugged. He didn’t care, and she knew he wouldn’t care. Time to bring out her one remaining card.

“You’re looking at your situation all wrong, Will. I _understand_ now. I can _see_ you now,” she says, using his first name because she was tired of formalities. “You’re right. The teacup is never going to gather itself again. But that doesn’t mean you can’t use glue and just put the damn thing back together _yourself.”_

He suddenly sat straight up and looked at her, confusion on his face. “What - what do you know of teacups and time, Agent Starling?”

She took a page from Lecter’s book and answered his question by changing the subject to something similar yet off topic. “Hannibal Lecter was the serpent that crawled into your sleeve, he claimed you for himself. Everyone around you tried to save you from your fate, but you _chose_ him. You _chose_ him, and you went into the sea together. It foamed milk then, didn’t it?”

Will slowly stood up from his cot, and slowly walked to the front of the glass. Clarice mirrored his movement, until she was right up against the glass as well.

“And what does the sea foam with _now,_ Agent Starling?” he said in a low voice. She didn't break eye contact, but smiled, feeling emboldened now. Now she knew what to do. She removed a picture of the most recent girl dragged out of the river, and pressed it against her glass, hard.

 _“Quid pro quo,_ Will. Where is Buffalo Bill?” she demanded. Will quirked an eyebrow at her before smiling. A real smile, she could tell he hadn't had one in over a year. He understood her now. He understood what she was telling him without saying it aloud. Veritas, bringer of truth.

He nodded at her, touching the picture through the glass.

“Deal’s a deal, Agent Starling.” he murmurs, the smile not fading. “I haven’t done this in a while, so bear with me…” 

His eyes close. He doesn’t move. He barely breathes. Clarice doesn’t either.

When he speaks again, he sounds like another man altogether, a rough yet high voice, unsure of himself but definitely in charge of the situation.

“I starve them for a few days, it loosens the skin from the bones, makes it easier to remove,” he says in a far too controlled voice. Clarice realizes why Jack wanted her to talk to Will in the first place. He is comfortable crawling into the skin of killers. “The lotion is to keep the skin in top condition. The death’s head moth, a symbol of life and death, of transformation. _I_ want to transform. They said I’m too unstable for the operation, even though I need to be me. I don’t want mere change, I want to _transform._ Become my true self. Since I can’t be comfortable in my _own_ skin, I’ll take theirs, ” he laughs a little to himself, in a voice that is not Will Graham’s before he opens his eyes again, still smiling. He can see the gears turning in Clarice's mind.

"The skin isn't a trophy," she breathes out. "He - he's making a suit. A skin suit. That's why it's tailor precision, why he chooses larger girls."

Will nods, looking proud as he glances over her shoulder. "Adapt. Evolve. Become. She's brilliant, Jack. You've made a good choice for once."

Clarice immediately turns around and sees Jack and Chilton looking absolutely furious from the doorway. Jack barks out, “Starling, what are you-”

“I’m not done, Jack,” Will shoots back, turning his attention back to Clarice. “Two-story house. It’s how he hangs them. Near the mouth of the river, easier for dumping.” He leaned in close to the holes in the glass, and whispers to Clarice, “Jack is in the wrong corner, Agent Starling.”

“What?”

“When you find Buffalo Bill, Agent Starling,” Will says lowly, eyes flickering over to Jack before looking into hers, “you will have no choice but to kill him. Accept it now and move on. You are the black queen on a chessboard, dynamic, the most powerful piece. You are not a pawn. Do you understand me?” He leans in close enough that she can feel his breath through the hole. “ _Do you understand me, Clarice?”_

“Yes, sir. I understand you.” It was the first time Will had said her name, not Agent Starling.

“Good. Good.” Jack interrupts this moment of breakthrough by walking over and taking Clarice’s arm.

“Starling, we need to-”

Will starts laughing then. _Laughing._ “Enough, Jack. Clarice, listen to me, he’s in the wrong corner. Right box, wrong corner. Remember that, you understand? _Wrong corner.”_ He can’t stop laughing now, everything has clicked together, this whole year of hell makes complete and utter sense now, Jack - Frederick - they've been- “Tell me how it feels when you kill him, Clarice.”

He burst into full-on hysterical laughter, then, laughter that wouldn't stop. 

“You - you,” Will sputtered, laughing so hard he was nearly sobbing as he was injected with the needle by the guard that rushed into his cell as she is dragged out. “You - you are one _charred steak,_ Frederick. I - I wouldn’t even feed you to my _dogs.”_

Clarice was escorted out by Jack and an annoyed, yet visibly rattled Chilton, who glared in the direction of Will, curled up on his cot as the drug took hold. “Thank God we’re moving him, I can’t deal with these fits anymore.”

“Moving him?” she asked incredulously.

“Well, I feel it’s too risky to keep them under the same roof anymore, we're having him moved in the morning," Chilton says curtly, apparently done trying to 'impress' her. Ardelia waits outside in the parking lot, she drove her over. Clarice rushes down the stairs and hugs her tight.

"What's going on, girl?"

"I think I just sold my soul," she laughs. "And I know where Bill is."

 

 

_Will is recovering in a cliffside home, after the fall. There is warm herbal tea growing cold in favor of sitting by the fire, wrapped in thick blankets as Hannibal tells him the story of EglÄ— and her serpent prince._

_His sister, Mischa, it had been her favorite story._

_That had been their first kiss, that night. Will had always thought it would be wild and bloody. But no, it was soft and gentle, so unlike them. It was sweet and tender, and tasted like the salt from the sea and Hannibal’s tears, and the bitter sweetness of the tea leaves._

_Will dreamt of falling off the cliff over and over, into a sea foaming with milk._

 

Will looks at his pill assortment in the morning. There is a tiny, pale blue one that is usually never there. It is only mixed in when Frederick thinks he's being smart and Will won't notice that there is one more drug than usual. It's a heavy sedative. He palms the pill and slips it into his jumpsuit, then pretends to pass out at the time the drug knocks him out.

The guards come in and strap him in, murmuring about a transfer and carrying him out to the transport van.

He estimates it is no more than an hour and a half of pretending to be dead to the world when he hears the radio buzz

All units, all units, Lecter is missing. Repeat, Lecter is missing.

Will smiles as he easily slips an arm out of the restraint, grabbing the nearest blunt object and slamming into the face of the nearest guard.

 

 

Jack opened the passenger door to the car before it had even stopped braking, and rushed out towards the house. They had been at the wrong place. Jame Gumb was not his home address, so he sent Starling out to investigate "Jack Gordon", a tailor acquaintance of Gumb's.

Starling - _Starling_ was in trouble, he felt it in his bones. He was in the middle of barking out orders to the agents around him when shots rang out from inside the house, no, under the house.

Jack charged ahead while the other agents tried to get him to wait, no, he wasn’t waiting. He burst into the of the house and charged down the stairs to the basement, flinging open the door.

He didn’t know if he was relieved or horrified at what he saw.

Clarice was frantically reloading her gun, pointing at the gurgling figure of Buffalo Bill, wearing night-vision goggles, a handgun cooked in his hand. He stopped breathing as they both watched.

Starling looked up, the light from above allowing Jack a good look at her face. His stomach sank because it reminded him of when he found Miriam Lass in that pit, blinded by the sudden light from above. There was blood spattered across her face, she had shot him at close range. But what was truly frightening was her expression. Her coating of lambs’ wool, of softness and gentleness, was gone. The look in her eyes was that of a wolf, hidden under the sheepskin this whole time. The look of someone who had taken a life and did not regret it.

“Jack?”

He was brought back into reality by her snapping her fingers. “Starling, you need-”

“A ladder, Catherine’s safe, but he kept her in a pit, I gotta get her out.”

“Are - are you alright, Starling?”

She nodded, shaking a little from adrenaline. “He was tracking me. Cut the power in the basement, tracked me in the darkness. Heard him cock his gun behind me, I was faster on the trigger.”

“I’m sorry you had to resort to-”

She just shrugged, swallowing hard to force her adrenaline levels to go down. “I knew I’d have to kill him.”

Jack had seen the tape of her last meeting with Will, of what he’d told her, looking serious and so like Hannibal it made him sick. But before he could brush those thoughts aside, his phone rang. He answered it with an abrupt, “Crawford, FBI. Dr - Dr. Chilton, _calm down,_ what? You’re at the new institution, and Will is- you don’t _know?_ What do you _mean_ you don’t- Hannibal is what? _What?_ That’s impossible, he wouldn’t escape, he doesn't _have_ anyo-”

_“I need you to be the go-between, Starling.”_

_Will had grabbed Starling’s hand but made no effort to hurt her, just to shake her up. Then she met Hannibal. Hannibal had taken a noticeable sniff of her, he thought it was to unnerve her._

_Scent-marking._

_"Why do I have to sell_ _my_ _soul to fuel your obsession with those two?”_

**_“I need you to be the go-between, Starling.”_ **

He ignored Chilton’s frantic babbling as he watched Starling survey her kill, running her gloved fingers over the bullet holes in his chest. She was cool, she was collected. Corrupted - no. This was her-

_-becoming._

 

 

Hannibal had finished stringing up the remains of his least favorite guard against the bars of his cell, a lovely distorted angel figure. He was left with plenty of time to get into the man’s car with his keys and escape.

He hadn’t made it more than thirty miles down the road when he saw what he had been hoping for. A transport vehicle, crashed into a ditch. He pulled over to inspect the scene.

The driver was dead, head smacked so hard into the steering wheel that his neck had snapped. It looked as though something had frightened him enough to run the car off the road.

 

Hannibal’s heart seized up as he pried open the back of the vehicle. Between the two dead, mutilated guards was, _“Will.”_

The man in question's face was buried in his hands, soaked in blood, but looked up at the sound of his voice. Tears welled up in his eyes as he croaked out, _“Hannibal.”_

No symphony would _ever_ be as beautiful as the sound of Will saying his name.

Will stood up, hesitant. “How - how do I know I’m not still dreaming, still stuck in my head?”

Hannibal reached his arms out for an embrace. “Come here and discover for yourself.”

Will didn’t need to be asked twice, running and jumping out of the vehicle and into Hannibal's arms, squeezing him tightly. They were both openly crying now.

“Oh God, they told me-”

“-you were dead-”

“-lied to me-”

“-you’re alive, my _love-”_

“Kiss me,” Will pleaded, not waiting for an answer but instead pulling Hannibal down into a deep, blistering kiss that they both drowned in. They sounded like they were drowning, at least, only breaking apart when they absolutely had to breathe.

“Hannibal,” Will wheezed, trying in vain to get his heart to stop beating so fast. “Get us out of the fucking country on the next fucking flight out. Morocco, Russia, fucking New Zealand, I don’t care, I just want out, and we’re staying in the first motel we see because I want you now, and I am this close to having you on the side of the damn road.”

“Later, Will, I promise,” Hannibal smiled. “Let us go.”

 

 

Twenty-seven hours after they escaped, they had stopped in the first shitty motel in the Bahamas that they found. Hannibal presses Will up against the door as soon as they drop their bags. He has a hand on Will's throat, and Will tilts his head back, leaning into it. If he wanted, Hannibal could squeeze until he turned blue or snap his neck.

"Tell me, Will. Would you ever say to me _'stop, stop, if you loved me you'd stop?'"_

Will groans, a smile spreading across his face.  _“Not in a thousand years.”_

 _“Not in a thousand years,”_ Hannibal repeated, staring at Will like he was sent down directly from heaven. “That’s my boy.”

Will let out a breathy laugh, then reached out and pulled Hannibal into a deep kiss.

 

"Got a package, girl," Ardelia said as Clarice lets herself in. "Japanese woman hand-delivered it, says it's from her benefactor. He was apparently impressed enough with your story to send you a gift."

"Aren't I special?"

"Hell yeah. I'm gonna go and finish getting dressed for the big party in your honor. Package is on the counter."

Clarice nodded, opening the package as Ardeila leaves the room. She carefully unwraps a teacup, and her heart sinks. The teacup is done in the _kintsugi_ style, where the teacup is broken and then put back together with gold filling the cracks, making it stronger than before. As if on cue, at that moment, her phone rings. She answers with an abrupt, "Starling.”

“Hello, Clarice," purrs an all-too-familiar voice. "Have the lambs stopped screaming?”

“Dr. Lecter,” she hissed. “They will trace this phone, and how did you-”

“Don’t worry, Clarice.” She could hear the smirk in his voice. “I hold no ill will towards you, none whatsoever. The world is far more interesting with you in it, my dear.”

“Why are you-”

“The sea foamed milk, Clarice,” Hannibal smiled, looking over at Will, who was flipping through the selections on the electronic jukebox. "Will wishes to know how it felt to kill Buffalo Bill."

Clarice takes a deep breath, and smiles in spite of herself. "Righteous."

"Righteous. Fascinating as always, Clarice. I would have loved to have had you as a patient."

 _"Where are you,_ Dr. Lecter?"

"Now, you know I can't tell you that, Clarice. Now, extend us the same courtesy and don't come looking for us."

"You know I can't make that promise, doctor."

Hannibal smiles, leaning back on the couch in the hotel bar. "I do wish we could speak more, Clarice, but unfortunately, we're expecting dinner to arrive any moment now."

"Dr. Lecter-" And then the line goes dead. Clarice looks down at the phone in her hand, then very decidedly wraps the teacup back up again, and shoves it under her bed.

 

 

Hannibal hung up the cell phone, walking over to the bar to hand the bartender the cell phone, mentioning that the man on the end had lost it. He was thanked, and was even bought a drink. He took the drink over to his seat on the leather couch at the lounge. Will popped some quarters into the jukebox and chose a song, scooping up his own drink and taking a seat on the other side of the couch. Sinatra’s _I’ll Be Seeing You_ started to play, and Will hummed along, causing Hannibal to smile. Hannibal lifts Will's hand that wasn't holding his drink and kisses his new wedding ring. Will winks.

"Sentiment shouldn't suit you so well," he sighs, taking a sip before grinning. "In your medical opinion, doctor, what's the most useless organ in the human body?"

Hannibal thinks for a moment. "The spleen, perhaps? It has a more earthy flavor than the appendix, and less likely to rupture."

"Perfect. Stuff it with strawberries," Will smirks as they watch Frederick Chilton finished his conversation with Jack on the phone as he dragged his suitcase into the lobby. He accepts the keys and makes his way to the elevator. He gets in when the door opens, but a hand prevents the door from closing, and the elevator opened up again. He drops the suitcase onto the floor hard enough that the clasp springs open when he sees the two blocking his only exit.

Hannibal’s smirk made his heart fall into his shoes, and his arm was around Will, hand resting possessively on Will's hip.

“Going up?” Will asks, peering over the top of his sunglasses, eyes full of mischief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE KUDOS AND COMMENTS. I love responding to comments, so please leave a lot of them!
> 
> Tomorrow: the last day :( But I'll end it on a cute little fairytale note, promise!


	28. Diamonds and Toads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has a special power: he can see the words that fall from a person's lips.

Will Graham might have been only a servant in his lady’s house, insignificant at first glance compared to the vast kingdom around him, but he had a special power.

For you see, he could see the words that came out of people’s mouths.

Not literal words, but the form that the words took as soon as they floated into the air. Sometimes it was pleasant, other times it wasn’t. For example, whenever the lady Alana spoke, her words were soft, pink rose petals, kind as could be with a tinge of thorn. He liked her words, as well as those of her lover, the lady Margot. Margot’s words were perfect pearls, very fitting, for out of irritation and strife did something beautiful come about.

Will did not like her brother, Mason. For tiny, ugly little toads fell from his lips whenever he spoke, and Will hated that no one else could see the slime practically oozing from his mouth.

Now you might be wondering what fell from Will’s lips, what his words were formed of. Unfortunately, Will himself did not know what his own words looked like. Because whenever Will spoke, which wasn’t often, he would close his eyes.

He didn’t want to know what came out of his mouth whenever he spoke. He was afraid that if he saw his own words, he might never want to speak again. People’s words influenced his perception of them far too easily. Like the lady Bedelia, her words were cold chips of ice, icicles that dropped on the unsuspecting passersby. He hated how her words looked and felt, he avoided her whenever possible.

He would have been somewhat content to be cursed with this gift forever, if the lady of the manor didn’t host a particularly _interesting_ guest one night.

Will had just finished setting up the room for Count Lecter, and turned to leave the room when he bumped right into the man. He closed his eyes immediately. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s quite alright,” the count said smoothly, so warm and _rich,_ like honeyed wine. He could get drunk off of that voice. “I wasn’t aware you would be here.”

“Setting out your linens, I’ll be on my way, excuse-”

“No, stay, I’d like to talk with you longer, if you like. What is your name?”

“Will Graham.”

 _“Will_. A wonderful name. Why are you speaking with your eyes closed, if I may ask?”

“It’s uh, kind of a long story. I’d rather keep them closed if we’re going to keep talking, Count Lecter.”

He could _feel_ the warmth in Lecter’s voice. _“Hannibal,_ please. With you, no need for formality.”

After what felt like hours of talking, Hannibal had to actually go and speak to Alana, and he left, pressing a kiss to Will’s hand before he left. Will savored the touch before opening his eyes again. God, he was afraid to know what came out of Hannibal’s mouth, but he was deathly curious about it. It could be rivers of blood running down his chin and he would be _enchanted._ Hell, he’d love it.

Will and Hannibal’s paths crossed very little for nearly all of Hannibal’s stay, for Hannibal had actual business in the kingdom and was out for most of the day. Occasionally Hannibal would pull him aside after dinner. Will would ask him if he wanted anything, and Hannibal only wanted him to talk. That was irritating, as Will still didn’t know what fell from Hannibal’s lips as he kept his eyes closed. It ate away at him, day after day.

It wasn’t until the night before Hannibal was about to leave to return to his own kingdom when Will couldn't stand it anymore. He knocked on Hannibal’s door.

“Hannibal, may I - may I come in?”

“Please do, Will,” Hannibal replied from inside. Will opened the door and just remained in the doorframe. Hannibal smiled from where he was reading in the chair by the desk. Will couldn’t hold back a smile of his own. It was nice, this. Just looking at each other, savoring each other’s presence.

Will closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Hannibal, the - the reason I talk with my eyes closed is - is because I see what falls from each person's lips, see their _words._ Some have pearls, some have creeping cockroaches, it varies from person to person. It - it sounds _insane,_ but-”

“Will,” Hannibal’s voice is gentle. “I _understand,_ love. For I have a similar gift.”

“You - you _do?”_

“Yes, Will. I can _taste_ the words that come from the mouths of others. Everyone’s words taste differently. That is why I spent so long talking to you, I was _intrigued._ But why don’t you open your eyes when you speak?”

Will felt himself blush. “I - I’ve always been afraid of what comes out of my mouth. And you keep _talking_ in between _my_ words, I don’t know what falls from _your_ lips.”

“Then let us discover together. Open your eyes, Will.”

And Will does, opening them and staring directly into Hannibal’s eyes. Hannibal smiles again before saying his name. _“Will.”_

One perfect, smooth blood diamond falls from his lips. Will smiles, at ease with his gift for once. And then he allows himself to speak.

_“Hannibal.”_

He watches one rough-cut black diamond fall from his own lips.

“They match,” he says to Hannibal, unable to keep from smiling. “Blood diamonds fall from your lips, black diamonds fall from mine.”

Hannibal stands up then, setting down his book and crossing the room in seemingly three strides before pulling Will into his arms and kissing him deeply. When they break away minutes later, Hannibal asks Will to speak again.

“Why?”

“Because your _voice,”_ Hannibal says in a huskier tone than before, the diamonds flowing from his mouth like snowflakes, “is the most _exquisite_ voice I have ever _tasted.”_

Will laughs at that and Hannibal’s control almost slips at that sound, it’s sweeter than the rarest dessert in the world. “What does my voice taste like, exactly?”

“You must know, Will, that my own voice has a taste that I have never been able to replicate. I have never found another completely unique flavor until you. It’s - it’s - indescribable. Sweet, bitter, like washing down smoked meat with mead. But also, _chocolate?_ Perhaps _pomegranate?_ I’ll spend my life trying to decipher it.”

“Really now?” Will quirks an eyebrow, amused. “I thought you were leaving tomorrow.”

Hannibal pulls Will fully into the bedroom and shuts the door before kissing him again. “I’m postponing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, this is it. End of the line. The last day of #HannibalEverAfter. It's been a ride, hasn't it? Ups, downs, fluff, angst, sexytimes, season 4 plotlines, and so, so many fairytales. I feel like my writing has improved since I started writing a month ago, and I'm inordinately pleased with all of it. This has been a truly rewarding experience for me, reading and responding to all of your comments and having all of you give me your advice and praise. I love each and every one of you.
> 
> You know what would be fun? Comment down below with your favorite story spread across these 28 days. I would love to know which ones were the most loved. Don't be shy, I want to know!
> 
> Although this series has come to an end, I know there are tomes upon tomes of other fairytales. So, I'm giving you guys an offer: my Tumblr is somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds. If you want me to potentially write another Hannibal/fairy tale mashup, shoot me an ask with about your favorite fairytale! If I get enough prompts, I'll start up another series and keep these AUs going. For instance, Robin Hood wasn't included in the calender for this month, but you could send it in and maybe I'll write it! Now, since I'm not on a crunch like this month-long challenge, they might take a little longer to write out, but I'd be willing to keep going if you guys want more. And feel free to read the other AUs in my account, I promise, they're good stuff! Especially if you love the Addams Family....
> 
> Again, thank you all for making this month incredible, and encouraging me to keep writing. Special shoutout to JoJa, because you always gave me a thorough review of each and every story, always pointing out what you liked best and what I should improve on. I looked forward to your comment every day, and also everyone else who wanted to give me feedback. I love all of you to death!
> 
> Comment below: your favorite fairytale of the month, and did you have a favorite fairytale I didn't write but you'd like to see me take a swing at? Tell me!
> 
> Once again, my Tumblr is somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds. Come and say hello!


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